


You Remind Me of a Man

by ai08



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Character Death, Character Study, Dealing with Emotions, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Sort Of, dealing with death, how do i feelings, realistic approach to human relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ai08/pseuds/ai08
Summary: Tony Stark cannot stand the overly opinionated and egotistical Dr. Strange and the feeling is extremely mutual.





	1. The Meet Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 1000% for funsies. I pull mostly from the MCU but I also cherry pick the comics.  
> I'm not certain of anyone's ages nor do I care, but I aged up Peter because I like him closer to comics age.  
> Enjoy!

Tony isn’t drunk. Because Tony isn’t allowed to  _be_ drunk anymore, actually, so there’s no way he can pretend to take any of this shit seriously. But Pepper keeps shooting him The Look (a cross between a death glare and complete exasperation) and he  _has_  promised to be good, so he gives her a wink and keeps his mouth shut. She smiles warmly, then, so, it’s worth it. (Even if he’s already designed a million more efficient versions of the toys they’re trying to pass off as innovative technological advancements within minutes of the presentation.)

He’s here to make nice with the current owner of a robotics company he wants to subsidize. But that doesn’t mean he has to sit through another hour of this drivel; he can do without the Ted Talk, (and all the noise, and human bodies crowded together, and the lack of fresh air and sunlight), thank you  _very_  much. So, he takes another sip of his sparkling water, squeezes Pepper’s elbow, and slips out of the auditorium and into the hallway  ~~before this feeling of absolute panic that’s starting to form manages to crawl out any more than it already has~~.

 **Be back soon, hold down the fort for me** , he texts her with half numb, shaky fingers, and leaves.

“Boss, where are you-”

“Happy, stay with Pep. Big crowd in there,” Tony says distantly. Happy looks like he wants to argue so he lingers for a moment. “You sure, Mr. Stark? You don’t look so good.”

Tony isn’t sure how much longer he can pretend his throat isn’t closing in on itself, so he waves Happy off with a strained, half-smile. Happy doesn’t move for a moment, but he must finally convince himself everything is alright with the knowledge that the hotel is surrounded by his team of bodyguards because after a beat he mutters something into his ear-piece and heads back in.

Once he leaves, Tony sets down his glass and, on a whim, grabs two drinks from a passing server. He heads for the nearest exit and finds a quiet seating area surrounded by lush greenery. He sets the flutes down with such force he’s surprised the stems don’t snap and he collapses into a chair, willing his heart rate to slow down, but it’s no use. His head is pounding, and his vision is going in and out and like usual, there’s nothing he can do. Nothing he can  _fucking_ do to stop feeling like he’s about to die all over again and- - -

The panic attack passes in record time, which is nice.

Maybe all the bullshit therapy Pepper keeps foisting on him is working. Or, more likely, maybe he’s just finally gotten used to his new normal. Which, so far, is just like his  _old_  normal, only with added medication and weekly breakdowns.

He scoffs at himself and rakes his fingers through his hair and looks at the table, suddenly remembering the drinks he had grabbed. He has apparently spilled most of it, but there’s enough for half a glass of champagne between the two of them.

“Tony Stark?” a deep voice says, pulling him from his thoughts.

Tony looks up and sees a man he doesn’t recognize. He raises a brow. “And you are…?”

The man extends a hand. “Dr. Stephen Strange,” he says, eyes cutting to the table before them. “I’ve read about your work.” For a moment Tony thinks he’ll continue- he’s used to being approached by fans and while at one time he would have brushed them off callously, it’s a little difficult to do that now. It’s hard to think of others as insignificant now that he knows what it feels like to be just that.

So, perhaps, his new normal  _is_  a bit different.

But the man never continues.  _‘I’ve read about your work._ ’ That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say? Tony won’t lie, that throws him a bit. He cocks his head and gives an assessing, false smile, still half waiting for the gushing compliments and exclamations and questions. But none come.

“Well, Dr. Stephen Strange, did you need anything or can we both go back to minding our own business?” he says, voice sharper than he had intended but he’s feeling a bit raw around the edges right now.

Strange rolls his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed and unintimidated. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then,” he snips back and leaves, taking the champagne flutes with him.

Tony blinks and is speechless for all of point two seconds at the sheer presumptuousness of the other man. “Excuse you,  _garçon_ , but I wasn’t finished.”

“Oh, you’re finished,” Strange says, tipping the liquid into the flower bed.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Tony sneers, standing up.

“Actually, I think your  _physician_  will be,” Strange snaps right back.

“And I think we’re done here,” Tony responds, pointedly walking around the taller man to go back inside. It’s common knowledge he had major heart surgery four months ago. It’s also common knowledge that Tony does not take kindly to that fact being brought up. Especially by self-important, arrogant assholes who he does not personally  _even know_.

He has Happy pull up the car and snatches Pepper away from the dinner he was supposed to be attending.

“Mr. Stark- Tony- we were just going over the contract. They’re interested. We should really-”

“We’ll call in the morning,” he says, still agitated. “It’s their loss if they change their mind before then.”

-

Tony has an appointment he’s actually going to go to today, and since Metro-General is only a half hour walk from Stark Tower, he sets out on foot. The fact that he’s made sure to leave well before either Pepper or Happy arrive for the day is simply a coincidence and has nothing to do with how sick he is of the mothering and the worried glances. Because he’s fine. He’s not going to break.  ~~He’s already broken, anyway~~.

Tony walks through Time Square and stops at a coffee cart as it’s too early for any of the shops to be open yet. Summertime in New York is nice, but it’s nothing like back home. His days _never_ started this early. But it had been time to expand and opening shop in America’s business and financial district was a natural choice. The fact that it’s on the opposite side of the continent away from… all the bullshit he refuses to think about this early in the morning is just ironic to him these days since this city has been starting to feel the same now, too.

More bad memories than good.

He makes it to Lincoln Square in record time and stares up at the hospital. The sun is just now starting to rise, and he pulls out his phone to check the time and sees that he has a dozen missed calls and texts. One of them is from Peter. A bit surprised by that, he reads the message.

 **Hi Mr. Stark!**  
**I came by early this morning, I hope that’s okay!**  
Will you be by the lab today? I wanted to run  
something by you. Have a good morning!

 **Sure thing, kid. Just don’t burn the place down.** ****  
Let Pep know if you need anything.  
Not sure when I’ll be back.

**Oh okay  
Well have a good day!!**

He sighs and puts his phone away. Peter is a good kid, but the hero worship gets exhausting at times. He’s so optimistic and full of possibility. Tony has no idea what the kid sees in him and that makes him uncomfortable. He’s not good with good things; that’s always been Pepper’s forté.

There’s still an hour before his appointment and there’s no way in hell he’s going to spend anymore time in the hospital than is absolutely necessary, so he decides to meander aimlessly for a while.

“Keeping your appointment this time?”

Tony nearly yelps but manages to save face at the last moment by coughing, and he turns around to see-

“Oh. Strange Doctor,” he sniffs, eyes narrowed. “Should I be worried or flattered you seem to know so much about me? You a stalker? Because I’ve already got a few of those. Go ahead and take a number.”

“It’s Dr. Strange,” the other man says with a frown. “And I’m not stalking you. I work here,” he says, tilting his head at the hospital behind them.

Tony nods his head, looking the other man up and down. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and has just started to grey at the temple. Under a light jacket, Tony can see dark blue scrubs. After their brief encounter a few weeks ago, Tony had quickly looked into Stephen Strange- and had just as quickly dismissed him. In Tony’s line of work, genius prodigies in any field are a dime a dozen. Strange had been one of the many consulting doctors on his team but hadn’t dealt with the actual surgery. He was an impressive man to be sure, but Tony knows a lot of impressive people. So as far as he’s concerned, they have nothing to discuss.

“Well, I want to say this has been fun, but it hasn’t. So, if you’ll excuse me-”

“I worked closely with Dr. Bashore on your case,” Strange says as if he hasn’t just been brushed off by  _the_  Tony Stark. “I still do, actually.”

“Awesome. Let’s be Snapchat buddies,” Tony says, deadpan, and starts to turn away.

“It’s not often I’m wrong,” Strange continues, haughtily, as if Tony hasn’t just dismissed him. “The surgery was obviously a success. But I told him it would be wasted on you. And I was right.”

Tony thinks back to the evening they had met and remembers the champagne. A lesser man might have grown embarrassed and started sputtering excuses at such an accusation. But that’s not Tony’s style. Instead, he just cocks his head to the side and gives a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Do you speak to every patient this way or am I just one  _lucky_  girl?” Tony asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No,” Strange responds, eyes dark. “Only the ones who don’t appreciate the second chance that’s been handed to them.”

For once, Tony can’t think of a witty come back.

But his check-up goes well, and he’s cleared for regular activity. So, that evening, he spends a good while beating his wooden martial arts dummy into submission until he’s sweating and shaking and can hardly breathe.

Afterwards, he pours himself a few fingers of bourbon from the bottle he keeps in his workshop. It’s the only one he has been able to hide from Pepper and its half empty now.

He frowns at the glass for a bit before pouring it down the drain.

A moment later, the entire bottle follows.

-

“Mr. Stark! Hey!”

“Kid, don’t you have class today?” Tony grouses, rubbing at his face. He must have fallen asleep in his workshop. Again.

“No, sir. It’s Saturday,” Peter says, smiling at him.

“Then why are you  _here_?” he asks, exasperated.

“Happy told me to bring you this,” he says and places a cup of coffee on the table.

“Peter, we’ve been over this. You work for me. Not Happy. You don’t have to listen to him.”

Peter laughs and scratches at the back of his neck. “I was coming by anyway, so… It wasn’t a big deal.”

Tony can’t help but grin at the young man; no one works more than Tony, but Peter is a close second. Given that he’s a full time student, that’s saying something.

And if the extra hours have increased even more since… the incident, well, Tony isn’t going to say anything.

“Alright, Pete,” he says, slapping his hands together and trying to shake off the familial fondness that’s slowly creeping into his heart. “If you’re gonna hang around, make yourself useful.”  

-

Tony is throwing a company party, by which he means  _Pepper_  is throwing a company party, if her clipboard and aura of equal parts control and chaos are any indication. He does his part, of course. But he finds that entertaining while sober is a painful experience and after an hour he’s ready to punch something.

When he can finally get away, he sneaks off to the elevator, intent on taking it down to his basement workshop, but an arm reaches out, catching the doors. Tony pushes the close door button desperately but it’s too late; he plasters on a fake smile, readying himself for more inane talk about politics and the stock market, or, if he’s lucky, someone’s extremely personal disease and/or injury. Joy.

His smile falls when he sees who steps into the lift.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony intones. “Who invited  _you_?”

Stephen Strange raises a brow, adjusting the tie on his dark three-piece. He is loath to admit it, even to himself, but tall, dark, and rude cleans up  _nice_. Tony must have been too  ~~busy having a panic attack~~  angry to notice the first time they met.

“I was a plus one,” Strange states, pointedly looking away. “Bottom floor, please.”

It’s not often someone gets under Tony’s skin but Strange had managed it in a matter of moments on their first meeting. He seems upset now and Tony can’t help but smirk, hoping he can return the favor.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks lightly.

“Like I said,” Strange says, voice tight, “I  _was_  a plus one.”

“Lady troubles?” he asks and Strange glares. “Got it in one!” Tony crows. “What did you do, give an unwanted opinion? You’re pretty good at that.”

Strange says nothing and they take the rest of the trip down in silence.

“It was great catching up, Strange Doctor!” Tony calls after Strange as he storms off. He flips him the bird and Tony laughs.


	2. Heartbreak and Hal 9000

Peter’s summer break begins so Tony and Pepper take him upstate to see the newly renovated warehouses. It’s not really relevant to their specific work but Tony doesn’t like to pass up a chance to ~~show off~~ share his resources. They haven’t been used since his old man’s time, but with as many new large scale projects Tony’s teams are working on, they needed the extra space.

Pepper thinks he’s taking on too much too soon and Tony lets her know that her concerns have been heard, considered, and firmly rejected. Peter probably feels the same, but he keeps his mouth shut so he’s currently Tony’s favorite person. Tony is a little offended that Pepper seems unaffected by this news when he tells her as much.

They stay local for lunch and Peter is quick to suggest a healthy restaurant nearby which Pepper swiftly agrees with. Tony narrows his eyes; he knows what they’re doing. But she swears the food has gotten amazing reviews and baked French fries are probably (hopefully) better than no French fries, so he acquiesces.

The food is alright. Tony supposes it might even taste good, if salmon and kale is your thing.

“Tony, Peter and I were talking and-”

At that Tony gives them an amused, quizzical look. She frowns, and he keeps his mouth shut. For now, anyway.

“- _and_ we were thinking that maybe you’d like to go to yoga with us tonight?”

He raises his brows, looking between the two of them. “You guys do stuff together? Without me?”

Peter’s cheeks flush. “Well, we didn’t really think it would be your thing, but, I’ve been doing some reading and- --”

“Oh. Oh, no no _no_. I’m not letting you two talk me into this.”

-

They end up talking him into it. He hates it, even if the redheaded instructor with killer resting bitch face is fine AF. Still, he’s a good sport and only gives “minimal” complaint when invited to attempt bird of paradise.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asks Pepper after as they leave the studio. Peter is a few feet ahead of them, already on the phone with a friend. She readjusts the strap on her shoulder and looks down for a moment.

“I’ve got plans, Mr. Stark,” she says quietly.

“Oh, come on, Pep,” he grins at her. “I’ll let you pick. We can even have some more rabbit food you love so much.”

She smiles but shakes her head. “Tony, I really have to-”

“Or I could just make you a smoothie back at the Tower? We should go over the prototypes fo-”

“Tony,” she interrupts, voice firmer.

“I make a pretty decent strawberry-banana smoothie,” he counters, brow raised and charming grin firmly in place. “Well, to be fair, Dum-E does.”

Something shifts in her gaze for a moment, but she sighs and gives a half smile before he can give it a name.

“I’ve got plans tonight,” she says again, and breaks off to head in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you in the morning!”

He watches her walk away, until all he can see are little glimpses of her pony-tail bobbing as she makes her way through the busy evening foot traffic. Belatedly, he remembers she’s allergic to strawberries. Fuck.

“I don’t have dinner plans, Mr. Stark,” Peter pipes up, seemingly from out of no-where.

Tony rolls his eyes and huffs. “Come on, kid. We’re getting doughnuts.”

\-  

-

“Grab me some arugula,” Tony says, gesturing to the refrigerated vegetables.

“Why are we at a grocery store in Chelsea, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks as he grabs a bag of the greens. Tony swears he hears him mutter, “I’ve got homework to do…” under his breather. Tony narrows his eyes. Brat.

Tony turns to face him and pulls his sun glasses down just far enough to make eye contact. “Because we had a meeting a block over and I eat food, Pete,” he says slowly, exasperated. “Now help me find the rest of this rabbit food.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him suspiciously and Tony tucks his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and turns on his heel to go find some beets or acai juice or some shit. Tony has no idea what he’s doing; his personal shopper usually handles things like this. He’s just too proud to admit that he doesn’t want to go back to the tower.

“Um, Mr. Stark… Don’t you have an appointment today?” Peter asks.

“Don’t you have some organic, non-GMO, free range pasta to find?” Tony counters over his shoulder and quickly turns down an aisle to avoid the rest of _that_ conversation. He sucks in a breath when he nearly runs into (what are the fucking odds) Stephen Strange. The doctor - _neurosurgeon_ , Tony mentally corrects himself for some reason- is still in his scrubs and, apparently, deciding which type of protein powder to purchase. He must work out. At that thought, Tony’s eyes cut to the doctor’s biceps and he can’t help but mentally nod in approval.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Tony says, voice low for dramatic effect. “And I’d go with the pea powder,” he adds, because he’s tried it and it’s disgusting and he’s an asshole.

Strange barely spares him a glance before looking back to the canisters in his hand. “Your last blood work results showed a marked improvement,” he says in that annoyingly deep ~~and sexy~~ voice of his before placing the canister of pea protein back on the shelf and the other in his shopping cart. Tony knows a ‘this is as close to an apology as you’re going to get from me so take it or leave it,’ when he hears one, because he invented them.

‘ _Two can play that game, doctor_ ,’ Tony thinks with a knowing smile. If Strange wants to be the bigger man he’s not about to let him be the only one taking the moral high ground.

“Oh, doctor, you _do_ care,” Tony croons, his smile taking on the qualities of a leer. (Apparently, he’s still figuring out what ‘moral high ground’ means, exactly.) “Apology accepted, by the way.”

Strange scowls and walks away and Tony pretends he’s not disappointed.

“No need, I remember it, Dr. Strange!” he can’t help but overhear the cashier chirp when Strange offers his phone number in lieu of his membership card at check out.

‘ _Must live around here, Flatiron District?_ ,’ he finds himself thinking, remembering the taller man’s designer watch and beautiful Lamborghini he had sped off in down Park Ave the night of the company party. ‘ _Probably. Bastard has great taste._ ’

-

His therapist was willing to wait for him, which is noble and dedicated and insufferable. She asks him if he’s still having nightmares and he scoffs. “Of course not.” ~~Being shot in the heart isn’t the least bit traumatizing.~~ She asks him how his new diet and exercise routine is going and he’s honest. Mostly. And when there’s only fifteen minutes left in the session, Tony thinks he might be getting off easy this time- she hasn’t asked anything too intrusive for once. Until she has to go and call him on his bullshit. “I can tell you’re putting up a front, Tony. How are you _really_ feeling?” she asks, voice soft. “It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

She means well, probably, but all he can think about now is everything he tries so hard to not think about every day. It used to be easier than this- getting over being betrayed and tortured had been easy to brush off with a bit of Jack in his blood. Now he can’t stop thinking about how _useless_ he’s been because some nameless asshole had to go and fucking shoot him. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s been too busy dealing with surgery and physical therapy and (ugh) _regular_ therapy to get any real work done without having to constantly reassure the closest thing he has to a family that he’s not made of glass. Which leads to wishing, for the millionth time, that he could just have one _god damn_ drink.

“I feel great,” Tony says, jaw tight and heart clenching even tighter. “Just peachy.”

-

“Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Asking me out, Miss Potts? Office fraternization is highly encouraged, so-”

She laughs, both exasperated and fond. “I’m going to take that as a yes. See you at seven, Mr. Stark.”

-

When he’s feeling particularly morose, Tony sometimes wonders if his entire life isn’t just one huge reminder that, for some reason, he doesn’t deserve to have nice things. Maybe it’s just some big, depressing joke the universe is playing on him. Because, given his track record, the evidence seems to be there.

He supposes today was just time for another reminder. He almost wants to laugh. Instead, he swallows, looking blanking at nothing for a moment.

Tony thinks about the day he got shot. He’d gone out to grab them a bite to eat… It had been a Wednesday. Pepper had tried to tag along but he remembers telling her to stay at the office and “ _take a break, Pep. If you’re trying to impress me, no worries- Mission thoroughly accomplished_. _Now, sit!_ ” The next thing he really remembers is waking up and thinking, ‘ _Thank fuck it wasn’t_ her’ and a few things suddenly seemed to shift and solidify in his mind.

Nothing sobers a man like almost dying twice and he figured maybe- maybe he’d finally get his shit together and tell Pepper he thinks he loves her.

But he must have taken too long, and honestly, he can’t even be mad; a great woman like her was bound to get swept off her feet sooner or later. It’s just that he always sort of felt like… she was waiting for him, too.

Or maybe it had never been in his cards at all and his ego was just getting the best of him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But, at least… if she’s going to be with anyone else, at least he’s a good man.

“Tony?” Pepper says, brows furrowed in worry.

She sits across the table from him; it’s covered in crystal and silver and white linen. He blinks and refocuses his gaze onto his dearest friend. Her hair is swept up and her skin glows in the dim lighting of the restaurant. She’s breath taking.

“Happy is one lucky son of a bitch,” he says with a grin when he remembers how to breathe again.

A few moments later he receives a phone call. It can wait until tomorrow, but he excuses himself and heads back to the tower before Happy joins them.   

-

-

“They need me back at the main office,” Pepper says, leaning gently against the doorway to his workshop.

Tony takes his work glasses off and nods, wiping the sweat from his brows. “I’m not surprised,” he says with a well-practiced smile. ~~He wants to think that’s easier to muster now but It’s not.~~ “I’m astonished they haven’t fallen apart without you already. They almost made it a year without you.”

She laughs and lingers but doesn’t say anything.

“When are you leaving?” he asks.

“Next Sunday.”

“Take Happy with you,” he says firmly, looking back at his work.

“What? Tony-”

“Oh, come on, Pep. I can find another body guard. Long distance sucks; don’t do that to yourself.”

“Tony-”

“Take Happy with you,” he says again, looking up at her pointedly. Pepper huffs a sigh through her nose, but the corners of her lips are turned up. “Thanks, Tony,” she says quietly.

He waves her off and she leaves, promising to take him out to dinner the following evening.

Thankfully, the door closes well before Tony throws an arm clamp across the room, shattering the glass of the cabinet it hits.    

-

-

-

Enough time has passed that Tony is, at least physically, fine. The next time the doctor wants to see him is in six months and he sends him on his way with a firm hand shake and a, “remarkable progress, Tony, really. Keep it up.”

So, he keeps doing what he’s been doing since Pepper went back to Malibu- staying incredibly busy. He has no less than seven projects he’s in the middle of, the latest of which is integrating nanotechnology into bio-organic material to create life-like prosthetics.

An idea forms when he receives an invitation to a dinner party for a colleague and friend, Bruce Banner, who _just_ so happens to have recently published research on a similar topic and also happens to be one of the few people aside from Pepper whom Tony truly respects.

Tony also has a man crush half the size of his own ego on Dr. Banner and his ridiculously beautiful mind, but the fact that he could get to work with Dr. Banner again is neither here nor there. Truth be told, he would normally be clicking his damn heels at the prospect of a collaboration but right now he’s just happy for another distraction. Regardless, it will be a worth-while endeavor.

-

Peter looks at the three thousand dollar suit in his arms and then back up at Tony.

“Um. Mr. Stark?”

“Get dressed kid, we’re going to be late.”

“I just came to visit- My aunt just made lasagna…?” Peter says, voice trailing off as he glances over his shoulder, toward the kitchen.

“That’s neat,” Tony says, impatient. “You can have some after we chat with Bruce.”

“Who’s Bruce?”

“Oh. My god,” Tony mutters under his breath. “I’ll fill you in in the car, kid. Now get dressed.”

-

When Peter realizes he’s at a private dinner party being held in honor of Dr. Bruce Banner and his ground breaking work, Tony is afraid the younger man might faint. Suddenly all fondness of Bruce is forgotten and for a split second he’s almost jealous; Peter better have been this excited when he was accepted for the Stark Internship. (Because what’s so great about Banner anyway? Who cares if he has three PhDs? Tony graduated from MIT at seventeen. _He_ could’ve gotten seventy PhDs. But he didn’t _need_ a bunch of stupid doctorates. What would have been the point? He was smarter than any sitting professor at any university. Collecting more pieces of paper would have just gotten in the way of, you know, inventing.

 ~~And drinking~~.)

Tony finds himself clutching his water glass with one hand and tapping his leg under the table with the other. If he’s going to be honest with himself, he is _maybe_ probably most definitely not doing as well as he’d like to think he is. Every little thing doesn’t usually… get under his skin like this.

…He knew she’d have to go back to Malibu sooner or later- it might be his company but who the hell is he kidding? She runs the show and HQ needs her.

Sending Happy with her had been a friendly gesture, but really, he just needed the space. Tony owed Happy his life, a few times over, probably, but right now he had no idea how to be around the other man. Sending him with Pep was the only logical answer, anyway. She shouldn’t be alone out there.  

“Mr. Stark?” Peter touches his sleeve, pulling Tony from his thoughts. “A man over there keeps staring at you.” His hand doesn’t pull away and his brows are furrowed, looking between Tony and the stranger with worried eyes. Tony’s mood softens a bit when he sees how anxious Peter is and he looks up to see Stephen Strange, looking both bored and pissy.

“It’s alright,” Tony says, laughing a bit. “I know him.”

Peter visibly relaxes and sits back. “Is he a friend? Do you want to invite him to sit with us?”

Someone is giving a speech, or maybe a toast. Tony has no idea; he hasn’t been paying the least bit of attention. He stands up and leaves the table.

“Aaalright, I’ll just go up to the bar then and-”

Tony stops and turns around on his heel. “ _Don’t_ leave the table. Don’t talk to anyone.” His eyes narrow. “There are poachers everywhere and I’ve already called dibs on your grey matter.” The last thing he needs is people sniffing around his best intern. He turns back around and heads toward Stephen Strange who sits alone at his table.

Tony plops down next to him as if he owns the place (hey, he probably does) and makes himself comfortable.

“Fan of Dr. Banner’s?” Tony asks conversationally.

“Not particularly,” Strange replies evenly.

“A fan of blowhards giving long-winded speeches, then?”

Strange snorts and rolls his eyes. “Hardly. I’m here for a friend.”

“A friend, or a _friend_?” Tony asks, leaning toward the doctor and playfully wagging his brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Strange says and rolls his eyes, somehow managing to sound like the love child of an angel and a piece of dark chocolate.

“Tony, hey,” a quiet voice says behind him, pulling his attention from the older man seated next to him. He turns to see Bruce and before he can say anything the soft-spoken man just keeps talking. “Hey,” he says again calmly, sympathetically. “I heard about Pepper. How are you hol-”

“Great to see you, Bruce!” Tony says loudly, practically jumping up to greet the scientist. He makes to wrap a friendly arm around his shoulder, but the grip quickly tightens as he steers Bruce away from the tables toward a quiet, empty corner next to the kitchen doors.

“The press is here,” Tony says through clenched teeth. “Let’s save the heart to hearts for the lab.”

What Bruce doesn’t know, and what Tony will never admit, is that he really just didn’t want Stephen Strange to hear the end of that particular sentence. He works his jaw and cracks his neck. Then he takes a deep breath and remembers that he’s here to make a business proposal, not yell at the only other person who can go toe-to-toe with him intellectually.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Bruce says in that same quiet tone. “I had no idea the press would be here for-”

Tony shakes his head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, changing the subject.

He knows Bruce won’t hesitate to work with him, but what Tony wants to do would mean utilizing Dr. Banner’s (admittedly theoretical) patented method in Stark products. More specifically- in bio-organic limbs, and maybe even organs, one day. Tony is sure Bruce will agree, he’s dedicated his entire life to bettering the lives of others. But a soft sale is always the way to go; he’ll get Bruce and Peter chatting about their respective work and once Peter has him hooked, Tony will suggest a partnership.

“I have a great intern, Peter Parker. A double major- Bio-chem and engineering. I brought him here to meet you. Got a few seconds and a spare John Hancock for the kid? He’s a real fan.” Tony is all charm when he asks. Bruce really needs to speak to about ten other people in the next fifteen minutes, but he can never say no to Tony.

The three of them speak for a while and Bruce whole-heartedly agrees on the collaboration. After a while the conversation shifts, and Bruce and Peter are in an animated discussion about topics Tony is neither well-versed nor the least bit interested in (maybe in another life, but Tony has zero interest in the theoretical physics of space travel or what would be the best super power, thanks) and so he excuses himself and steps out of the restaurant.

He passes a guard in the stairwell, who nods to him as he heads downstairs. Even though he’s gone, Happy is still making sure his security is top notch. He heads outside and pulls his coat closed, heading toward his vehicle; he’s taken his BMW X5 out this evening. He had gotten it for the horrible northern winters, and even though the weather wasn't too bad yet, he couldn't deny how safe he felt in such a sturdy vehicle. The fact that he has customized the SUV to be completely bullet-proof is a lovely plus, too.  

 **I’ll send a driver for you when you’re ready to go home** , he texts Peter as he waits for his car to heat up. As an after thought he sends, **And stick with Bruce. Seriously, kid. They’re all vultures.**

Peter asks him if he’s okay. Tony doesn’t feel like telling his twenty-something year old employee, who is probably going to three different Halloween parties after this, that he’s tired at ten o’clock at night. So he alludes to a date and tells Peter to tell his hot aunt he said what’s up.

But the truth is that he hasn’t had a date since before he- Well, since before. The truth is, he misses Pepper. Misses Happy. Misses how things used to be. ~~How he thought things could be.~~

…The truth is, he’s exhausted. Exhausted to his bones.

 

Suddenly there’s a knock at the driver window. Tony startles but doesn’t drop his phone, which is a first these days. He looks up to see a tall figure wrapped in a dark red overcoat; it’s Dr. Strange.

“Are you lost?” Tony asks incredulously when he rolls down the window.

“No,” Strange says. He looks as if he’s swallowed about a dozen lemons. “I was leaving anyway. And you left this,” he says, proffering a dark grey scarf.

Tony leans back on reflex. “Just put it on the passenger seat,” he says, voice a bit tight.

Strange raises a brow at him but thankfully doesn’t comment. Tony expects him to just reach across and drop it in the seat, but the doctor is already opening the passenger door and sitting down.

“And apparently this is happening now,” Tony deadpans as he folds his arms over his chest and frowns.

Dr. Strange has barely shut the door behind himself- Tony can still feel the cold air in the cab- before he speaks. “Did Banner really agree to share his work with you?” he swiftly asks, voice clipped as if he can make himself sound less upset if he says it quickly.

Tony is going to _kill_ Peter.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Tony says, putting on airs.

Strange snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, your work will be a great contribution to the field, I’m sure,” he says, and Tony gets the distinct feeling he doesn’t mean that in a good way, but he finds the neurosurgeon’s gall hilarious. And a bit of a turn on.

“That is some aggressive passive-aggression, Stephanie.” Tony grins.

“There are just some things that can’t be replicated,” Strange replies.

“Correction. There are only things that haven’t been discovered yet.”

“And let me guess; you’re going to be the one to discover them?”

“Now you’re catching on.” A wink. “I’ll have you out of business in ten years,” Tony says, half joking. (Mostly.) “And _then_ I think we’ll know who’s right.” He leans his seat back, relaxing a bit. He turns his head to look at the other man, eyes narrowed in amusement.  

“You cheered for the AI in _Space Odyssey_ , didn’t you,” Stephen deadpans and Tony laughs.

Tony turns to look out the windshield and they lapse into silence for a moment. Not that he’s complaining, but what the fuck is going on here exactly? People don’t usually just get in your car under the flimsy pretense of returning a scarf.

“ _Well_ ,” he begins, drawing the word out a bit, “aside from our mutual acquaintance, is there anything else you wanted to… discuss?”

Stephen finally turns to face him, eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who approached my table tonight, Stark. Why don’t you tell me?” he asks, voice low.

“Careful, doctor. I’m starting to think you like me,” he responds, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Are you seriously coming on to me right now,” Strange says flatly.

Tony just shrugs, grinning. He’s adult enough to admit the older man is attractive and interesting. But he’s not invested enough to try much harder; Strange can take it or leave it.

Instead of saying anything, Stephen just stares at him for a moment. Then he mutters something under his breath that Tony doesn’t quite catch before swiftly exiting the vehicle. Tony quickly rolls down his window. “Your loss!” he shouts after him but the doctor either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care.

Well, at least he doesn’t flip him off this time.


	3. Must be Kismet

The next day, Tony takes a break from work to scroll through social media. He’s amused to see photographs of a “mystery man”, who is obviously Stephen Strange, leaving his car last night circling the internet. He is less amused when he notices one particular caption: ‘Playboy Tech Tycoon is back, nine months after near fatal shooting’.

He’s even less amused when he sees photos of Pepper being escorted to a Stark sponsored charity ball by Happy.

-

It’s the beginning of the week and Tony has a meeting scheduled with Bruce early this morning that he is two hours late to. When he finally arrives, they get straight to it, and Bruce doesn’t comment on Tony’s heavily tinted shades or the distinct lack of music. They work for a good few hours, mostly Bruce going over everything the engineer hasn’t already gotten his greedy mitts on. Peter shows up for his internship around one, and Tony suddenly remembers he’s got a bone to pick with the college student. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter calls, setting his book-bag down. He pulls his laptop and a binder out of his bag and begins to set up his work area for the day.

“Don’t you ‘hey, Mr. Stark’ me, kid. You know what you did.”

Not that he thinks Dr. Strange is out to get them, but it’s the principle of the matter. (Not to mention you can never, _ever_ be too careful.) Tony is beyond displeased that Peter didn’t listen. This particular event may not be that big of a deal but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it slide. Because if he’s going to trust Peter with more, he needs to be able to handle the small stuff first.

Peter stops flipping through his binder and looks at his boss, blinking a few times. “What? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t even,” Tony scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest, channeling his very best Extremely Displeased Dad impression. He doesn’t find Peter’s feigned innocence the least bit funny and his temper suddenly flares. “I told you to stick with Bruce, _not_ tell Dr. Strange my business, Peter,” he nearly snaps. “What the hell?”

For a moment Peter’s face falls and Tony looks just to the left of him, suddenly ashamed at being overly harsh. He’s never spoken to Peter like that and it wasn’t called for at all. He’s not sure what’s come over him.

“I barely talked to him,” Peter says after a moment and it’s clear Tony has dampened the younger man’s mood. “What… what happened?” Peter asks anyway, still trying to help.

“I spoke to him, Tony,” Bruce speaks up when he can finally get a word in edge-wise. “I spoke to him for a moment before you left. He asked me if it was true that I was planning on working with you and then he left, too. It was… Honestly really weird.”

Tony’s gut twists in shame, and that only makes him angrier. And if he’s being honest, the person he’s angry with was never really Peter, anyway. He’s angry with himself. He just can’t be bothered to take a needle to this tangled knot of emotions and sort it all out. That’s what the therapist was for and _that_ didn’t work out, so. If a professional can’t fix it, just ignore it, right?

They fall into an awkward silence for a while after that and spend the rest of the time working in relative quiet. Tony owes Peter an apology, but his pride won’t allow it. So, instead he invites Peter to his private dining room with Bruce for an early dinner to make it up to him and finds that his good mood doesn’t return until Peter laughs at something Bruce says. But it’s gone just as quickly as it had arrived, when a thought pops into his mind. This… camaraderie they’ve all got going is just too familiar and his heart clenches painfully.

He hasn’t spoken to Pepper in ages. Not really. Not about anything important, anyway. He should call her. He should-

“Small world, huh, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

Tony looks up from his phone. “Sorry, I was working,” he lies. “What’s up?” he asks.

“Dr. Banner goes to the same yoga studio as me,” Peter says. Tony tries to keep a neutral expression, but this conversation isn’t helping. That’s the studio Pepper went to, as well. Funny how something he never thought about before can suddenly be too much to bare.  

“I-” Tony clears his throat and tries again. “I have to- I have a thing,” he finishes, gesturing to his phone and standing up quickly.

Bruce and Peter both stare at him questioningly but he ignores it.

“Walk Peter through everything on the Orwitz-Santiago file,” he tells Bruce absentmindedly.

“Tony you have to-”

“Mr. Stark, I need you to sign someth-”

But he waves them off and takes the elevator to his private suites, trying to convince himself he’s fine.

He’s _fine_.

-

It’s almost seven and Bruce and Peter have been gone for a few hours when Tony makes his way back to his workshop. He has a few missed calls and texts from them, but he just hasn’t felt like checking them yet. He sits down at his desk and sees a hand-written note laying on his keyboard and recognizes the bold, box-like letters as Peter’s writing.

**Mr. Stark-**

**I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before today; it just slipped my mind I guess. Anyway, I’m really sorry. But could you sign off on this so I can take it to my advisor tomorrow?**

**Thanks!!**

**-Peter**

Beneath the note sits a blue and red binder. The same one Peter had pulled out this afternoon. Tony instantly recognizes it- it’s the binder he uses to keep track of everything he needs to get credit for the Stark Internship at ESU. Tony opens it; the first page is his time-sheet. From the amount of hours he has logged, Peter completed the requirements nearly a month ago and still came in as often as his schedule allowed. He notices that Peter has left out the hours he accumulated after the requirement had been met, never one to brag or call too much attention to his achievements. Tony shakes his head in fond exasperation and prints a copy of Peter’s actual hours to include in the binder.

He calls Dum-E over to forge his signature on the document, wondering why Peter didn’t just do that, but before he turns away he catches the due date at the bottom. The internship check-in is the next day. Peter doesn’t just _want_ to turn it in tomorrow. He _has_ to.

He runs a hand through his hair and begins to feel like shit all over again. Peter had tried to ask him to do this earlier, but Tony had been too busy feeling sorry for himself to pay attention. He pulls up Peter’s schedule on his calendar- Peter is set to meet with his advisor first thing the next day. Was he planning on coming to the Tower to pick this up on the off chance that Tony noticed this in time? Peter skates everywhere- that will be almost an hour round trip for the younger man, and in the middle of fall, too.

He frowns at the thought and shoos Dum-E out of the way, intent on signing the damn paper himself. Dum-E rolls off with the pen and Tony has to chase it down just in case it tries to draw on the wall. Again.

Afterwards, he goes through the entire binder, because he’s Tony and Peter should have expected that. At the back, folded in half and stuffed in the plastic pocket almost like an afterthought, sits a lone piece of printer paper. Tony takes it out and unfolds it. It’s an optional request: for Tony to comment on Peter’s improvements over the semesters. Tony can’t help but think that Peter had never brought it up because he didn’t think Tony would do it. It’s not as if Tony is jumping for joy to write a paper or anything, but Peter wasn’t even going to ask?

A small part of him whispers, ‘Why would he bother? You’re not exactly reliable.’ But he’s sick of feeling sorry for himself today so he waves that particular thought away and sets out to write a fucking masterpiece.

 _That’ll_ teach Peter for not relying on him.

Forty minutes later and he’s quite pleased with the two page, single space written _gold_ he has in his hands. The expensive, heavy-weight paper, Stark International header, and hand-penned signature are a lovely touch, too, he thinks.

“Great job, Tony,” he says to himself with a nod as he puts everything away. He looks at the time- it’s almost eleven and way too late to bother Peter. So, he looks up the advisor’s address and drops it off in person to a gobsmacked sixty-year-old professor at his home in Lennox Hill.

 **Turned in your hw. You’re welcome.** He texts when he gets back in his car (the Bugatti Veyron tonight). A moment later he sends: **Now hurry up and graduate. We’ve got shit to do, kid.**

Tony gets on FDR Drive and, with no destination in mind, just drives. He drums his fingers on the wheel, almost vibrating with nervous energy. He doesn’t feel like going back home. It’s not like he’s going to sleep so what’s the point? Maybe, he should call Pepper. He nods to himself at the thought. Yeah, maybe if he talks to her he’ll feel better. (Maybe he’ll stop losing his shit.)

Not that he’s not okay. Because he is. He’s just a little ~~lonely~~ ~~frightened~~ ~~hollow~~ tired.

He calls her on the Bluetooth and she picks up on the second ring. She sounds elated to hear from him and he can’t help the warm smile the slowly spreads across his face at the thought. But, of course Pepper would be happy to hear from him. They’re friends, after all. They talk for a few minutes, but he can tell she’s out- an event, or dinner, maybe.

Happy is probably her date, like usual. His smile fades.

“Hey, Pep, I’m about to make a conference call to Japan, so I’ve got-”

“Oh, geez, Tony. Get some sleep, honestly you will run yourse-”

“Goodnight, Pep,” he says good naturedly and ends the call. Tony blinks a few times and clears his throat, gripping the wheel. Right. So, calling Pepper was probably the worst idea he’s had in a while, and he should know. He’s had plenty of those in his life.

He ends up passing a late night café and thinks, ‘What the hell. Why not.’ It’s not like he has anything else to do. Tony parks and walks up to the storefront. He pauses for a moment, like he always does when he goes anywhere he doesn’t frequent, but he shakes it off.

Tony steps inside and nearly barks out a laugh when he sees who else is there.

“What do you think the universe is trying to tell us?” he asks, suddenly amused. He grins, sliding into a seat across from Stephen Strange.

“Excuse me?” Strange replies, looking up from his book.

“This is what, the fifth, sixth time we’ve run into each other,” Tony says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “Must be fate.”

“That’s not what I’d call this,” Strange says, looking back down and turning a page. “And there are several other places to sit.”

Tony sits back and quirks a brow. “Oh, so you can get in my car and harass me, but I can’t sit at your table? Wow, Stephen. I thought we had something here.”

The other man finally puts his book down and glares at him, jaw clenched. “Do you have a _point_ , Stark?”

A flame of anger flickers in the pit of Tony’s stomach. What is this guy’s problem? He’d actually enjoyed talking (snarking) with him the other night. It’s not as if Strange has ever been overly friendly, but he’s never been this out-right hostile, either. Not since their first two encounters, anyway. He wonders if it’s more trouble at home. It would certainly explain him being at a coffee shop in the middle of the night.

Well, if Strange isn’t going to play nice anymore neither will _he_.

“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking _point._ Why were you so interested in who Banner works with that you felt the need to hunt me down and confirm it?”

The other man’s eyes darken. Tony notices he’s clutching the tabletop with his fingers so hard the tips have turned an angry shade of red and the knuckles have gone white. “Because I couldn’t believe he’d take the risk.” Strange says, voice so low and cutting Tony’s spine straightens ever so slightly on reflex.

“Excuse me?” he asks loudly, eyebrows raised. “Want to try that again?”

“Not particularly,” Strange says almost impassively now.

Tony raises in his seat, hands clenched in a fist, but the manager rushes over and brings him back to his senses. He still gets asked to leave but, much to Tony’s amusement, so does Strange.

“What is your problem, huh?” he asks, rushing to keep up with the doctor who has headed down the sidewalk on foot. When he catches up to Strange he stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and tries to burrow into his scarf. The taller man acts like the weather doesn’t bother him; his coat isn’t even buttoned up. Tony wants to sneer but he’s not really certain he can right now.

Strange doesn’t respond to him. He just keeps walking, that same angry look still on his face.

“Listen, Kylo Ren, can you chill out for a second and tell me what the fuck has your panties in a twist?”

Strange suddenly turns to face him, causing Tony to almost slip and lose his footing.

“Whoa. What the fu-”

“The next time you run into me and want to chat?” Strange is practically seething. “ _Don’t_.”

“Jesus. You’re the one who-”

“My mistake,” Strange cuts him off. “You can’t h-” He snaps his mouth shut and glares at Tony. “Why am I even bothering to explain myself to you,” he sneers and then turns on his heel to keep walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's got to get worse before it gets better, right? Also, what the hell is Stephen's issue, hmmm.


	4. Feelings? No thanks.

“Bruce! You’re just in time. Get in here.”

“Have you… have you been in here since Tuesday?”

“Hmm. Probably.”

“Tony- Tony it’s Sunday.”

“So it is. Why are you here, then?”

 “You… _Tony_. You told me to come over.”

“I did?”

“You called me at 3 AM.”

“Oh, yeah. I did. Come have a look.”

“You- when did you- This is completely new…?”

“Couldn’t get the genome sequence from Richards in time to test your theory so I started messing around with this while I waited. You like?”

“Tony you made a working exoskeleton.”

“Yep.”

“In under a week.”

“To be fair I’ve been toying around with this idea for a while. But yeah. I figure we should expand- Why stop at artificial limbs? We can use the same idea to completely change how me manage limited, even no mobility.”

“That’s… actually really great but have you slept?”

“Eh. Here, want to try it? Put this piece behind your ear first.”

“Tony. Tony, you need to eat something. And sleep.”

“I will, I will. Just need to make a few phone calls. It should be on… _now_.”

“No. You ne- Oh. Oh, wow.”

-

‘Hopefully Pepper is having better luck than I am,’ Tony thinks to himself as he paces in his suite, phone to his ear as someone on the other end of the line asks if they can take a message. It’s the same song and dance he’s played for days. He hangs up and sends another email and promises Bruce he’ll have a real meal. Soon. Soonish. It isn’t until he’s finally, _finally_ settling into bed late that night that he’s struck by a thought.

Thinking about Pepper doesn’t seem to hurt as much now. That’s a bitter-sweet realization.

She’s been his touchstone for so long that this freedom brings its own sense of discomfort, but he tries to welcome it all the same.

-

-

It’s no secret that Tony loves the spotlight. In his opinion, no media coverage is bad, even the false and defamatory. (To be fair, he deserves ~~most~~ a good deal of the defamatory.)

Before brush with death number one, hell, even after for a while, he had been a trending topic online and in the tabloids. At times, hardly a week went by without his drunken exploits with women and men alike filling screens and pages. His products sold in spite (because?) of it but either way the results were the same: Stark International was the fastest growing conglomerate in the world. And if the public wanted to document and speculate on his life? They were more than welcome to. He’s even been known to pose for the paparazzi from time to time to make sure they get his good side.

But every now and then, as a result of his high profile, he’ll get a reminder of a few things he’d rather not think about.

Apparently, some idiot in Hollywood wants to make a movie about Howard Stark and, of course, they want his input. Aka his money. He has half a mind to tell them he’d be interested in making a documentary (note: _not_ _movie_ ) about his mother and the legacy of charity and dedication to the arts she left behind.

Because he’s got about as much interest in Howard as Howard had in him. Which is to say, absolutely none. Tony had been Howard’s back-up plan. But he had been Maria’s everything. So why the fuck would he want to make a movie about his father? Friend of Captain America or no- fuck Howard.

Plus, Tony has no doubt they’re going to try to snoop around and find out what really happened with Obadiah Stane and why Tony disappeared for so long five years ago while they’re at it. Regardless, the extra media coverage a movie would bring would be sure to drag it up again. (Along with, you know, that time he was shot at a deli on 3rd.)

‘I’m not allowed to talk about it, anyway,’ Tony thinks with a pout that quickly becomes a sneer.

Not that Tony gives a fuck about the United States government, especially after Howard and all of _his_ bullshit, but for the sake of the men who were injured and had lost their lives in order to save him from the Ten Rings, he will take the truth to his grave.

Still, he hopes he can do more than just that to thank them. Especially for one officer in particular. If only good ol’ Uncle Sam would hurry up and get back to him, so he can. It’s been ages since he’s heard from his best friend and he’s got something important for him. And a huge favor to ask. Tony sighs and rolls his neck. Melting into his chair, he deletes the email from the wannabe hotshot producer and waves a lazy gesture, ending the program.

“The Pentagon is on line one for you, sir,” a friendly British voice says.

Tony grins. “Jarvis! Lovely to have you with us,” he tells the AI he’s working on. So far so good; he’s been the perfect office assistant since he came online a few days ago. No one could ever take Pepper’s place so, this had been a natural alternative. “Put them on speaker,” he says.

“They are requesting a holo-conference,” JARVIS states.

“Ugh, no way,” Tony waves his hand dismissively, “I’m not looking at Ross’s ugly mug this early in the morning. What the hell does he want anyway?”

“Sir, it is two o’clock in the afternoon,” JARVIS supplies helpfully, in case Tony had been mistaken about the hour. The cheeky tone had been uncalled for though and Tony narrows his eyes, making a mental note to sort out a few algorithms. “And it is not Secretary Ross, sir,” the AI continues.

“Then who is it?”

“I have been told they wish to surprise you.”

Suddenly, Colonel James Rhodes is before him. He sits in a wheelchair but is in uniform and wears a happy smile on his face.

“Long time no see, Tony,” Rhodey says. “I heard you’ve been trying to get in touch with me?”

Tony’s mouth falls open but after a moment or two he collects himself enough to snap his jaw shut. “ _Rhodey_ ,” His voice seems to slip out before he’s ready and he clears his throat, willing the lump that’s forming to go away. “Colonel Rhodes,” he amends. “Did you forget how to answer your _fucking_ phone?”

“I’ve been out of the country,” is all Rhodey can say and Tony is forced to give a small, curt nod in understanding.

A moment later Tony manages to muster his most charming grin. “Got a spare week?” he asks. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Seriously? Tony. I do not have that sort of time to just-”

Tony hits a few keys and leans back in his chair. “I just sent you a file,” he says, cutting him off.

Rhodey glares. “I’m not going to ask how you just accessed my private government intra-”

Seeing that the colonel isn’t listening, Tony rolls his eyes and opens the file remotely and Rhodey immediately stops talking.

“What… what is this?” he asks. Almost whispers.

“Take a week off,” Tony says again gently and Rhodes nods, unable to take his eyes away from his computer.  

-

-

“So, tell us more about the new Starkphone, Tony,” the television host says, leaning toward him behind his desk. “The last model beat out iPhone by a landslide and rumor has it this one has holographic capabilities? Should be interesting trying to teach GramGram how to use it at Christmas,” he jokes, and the audience laughs.

Tony chuckles good naturedly. “Yep, with this model you’ll be able to render photos and video files as holograms. Even video calls. And don’t worry, I’ll help GramGram figure it out.” He winks at a camera to his left. The audience laughs again.

“And it’s coming out just in time for Black Friday with a midnight release tonight,” the host continues. “Have you seen the lines outside Stark Tech on 5th?” he whistles. On screen, a photo of lines forming around the block are shown.  

“Yeah, I think they’ve just had their first election for mayor of the line this morning,” Tony quips with a grin. “Great community. God bless,” he jokes.

The host smiles, shaking his head. “Anything else in the works for us?” he asks.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Mind if I bring out a friend?”

“Oh, by all means!”

Suddenly, a decorated officer in dress blues walks onto the set. His legs are encased in thin metal braces, but his gate is completely natural and at ease.

“I’d like to introduce my newest creation-”

The officer shoots him a glare.

“Oh, right, and my best friend, Rhodey-”

“Colonel James Rhodes,” Rhodey corrects, voice long-suffering. He tries to take a seat in the plush chair next to his friend, but Tony clears his throat and Rhodey sighs, standing up again.

Colonel Rhodes takes another moment to fully introduce himself and explains the abridged and heavily edited version of the accident that led to him being paralyzed from the waist down. It’s so far from the truth it’s practically a new story, but that’s what happens when 95% of an experience is a military secret. Fucking terrorists. Tony soon takes over, explaining a few details about the technology. The project is still in its early stages but Tony hopes, with the help of Dr. Banner, that they will be able to help many more soldiers like Rhodey and civilians alike. By the end of the segment the audience is sniffling.

“It’s been great having you on the show Tony, Colonel Rhodes,” the host says when the segment winds down. He shakes their hands heartily.

“Hey, you’re welcome,” Tony says with a wink and a grin.

“It’s been an honor,” Rhodey replies.

-

They leave the set and head for the roof of the parking garage for Tony’s helicopter; there was no way he was going to bother with New York traffic on Thanksgiving Day.

The trip back to the tower is fast and quiet, save for the chatter from air control over their headsets. They’ve got to hurry because Rhodey needs to return to work. But once they get back, Rhodey grips Tony’s shoulder, stopping him from leaving the hangar. Tony clams up for a moment, worried Rhodey is going to make things weird with _words_ and _feelings_ but he just squeezes his shoulder again, his eyes bright, before letting go and continuing on his way. If he doesn’t hurry, he’ll miss his flight.

For a moment, Tony thinks it would have been nice to have Thanksgiving with his best friend but, national security doesn’t care about the holidays. ‘And neither does Stark International,’ Tony thinks with a cringe as he sees one of his scientists walk by as he heads upstairs to work in R and D. She must be part of the skeleton crew for the holiday.

An idea suddenly pops into his mind.

“Hey, Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How many employees are working right now?”

“Twenty-seven, sir.”

“Awesome. Let’s see who caters.”

-

It’s the end of November and Tony wants to be able to say he’s headed out on a hot date. He’s at least dressed for one. But no. No, tonight Tony is going to the ballet with Bruce and Peter and their dates.

“Where’s your date?” Peter’s companion for the evening asks him, somehow managing to simultaneously size him up and look like she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Peter looks like he wants to crawl under a rock and MJ slides her gaze to him, grinning devilishly, completely amused with herself. Tony laughs at her brashness and wonders if Peter’s met his match or if he’s going to be eaten alive.

Bruce and his date, a willowy redhead named Natasha (whom Tony is certain he’s met somewhere before), suggest they head inside the theatre. Thankful to be out of the cold, Tony nods at his security detail, hands off his overcoat and brushes a hand down the front of his tux. He catches his reflection in a mirror and grins a bit. He hasn’t been out, not like this, in a while and he’s got to admit it feels nice, even if he has been forced into watching the _Nutcracker_. You’d think by now someone would have found another story to turn into a Christmas classic, but, alas.

Something in the mirror catches Tony’s eye and his gaze shifts to a man standing behind him, just to his left.

It’s Stephen Strange, with the same petite brunette he’s seen before. ‘Oh, look, it’s Dr. Douchebag,’ Tony sneers with a huff and quickly looks away. Natasha and MJ order drinks to enjoy before the performance and Bruce and Peter shoot him apologetic looks. Tony purses his lips and excuses himself for a moment, suddenly finding himself in a bad mood but not wanting to ruin anyone else’s evening.

He hasn’t thought about Strange since the last time they had spoken (or, more accurately, since Strange had snapped at him for absolutely no fucking reason) and he’d like to keep it that way. But it’s too cold to ~~brood~~ wait outside, so he heads for their seats instead, hoping the theatre will still be mostly empty.

Apparently Strange and his date have the same idea and he watches them enter the theatre moments after him. They lock eyes for a moment and Strange doesn’t look away, but Tony does.

-

“Merry Christmas,” Pepper says with a smile. Happy stands next to her, holding a wrapped gift in his arms. Happy seems to have lost some weight and Pepper seems to have gained, just a bit. He narrows his eyes suspiciously but says nothing, silently happy he’s finished up with his latest side project so soon.

“It’s only the 7th,” Tony says, smiling. “Actually, today is December 2nd,” JARVIS corrects. But Tony just grins from ear to ear as he pulls them both into a hug, ignoring his AI who, for some reason, still hasn’t had his personality algorithms adjusted.

“Christmas will be crazy,” Pepper explains, “so we wanted to surprise you with a visit now.”

But Tony shoos them out of his workshop and tells them to head up to his suite, yelling at them to _call_ first next time because he’s in the middle of some last minute adjustments to this project. (He’s honestly lost count of how many of those he has going at this point. Tony thinks that might constitute as an “issue” but his inner-voice of reason, which sounds surprisingly like Bruce, can go take a hike.) He wants to surprise them with the final version of this upgraded model and if he lets them hang around his shop much longer Pepper is definitely going to figure it out.  

He finishes within minutes, makes arrangements to have it shipped to Pepper and Happy’s estate in Malibu, and heads upstairs to catch up with his dearest friends.

-

A week later, Tony gets a heart felt thank you from Pepper and Happy for his gift. He pretends to wave off their appreciation and tells them that using it will be thanks enough. So, they _better_ use it. Pepper smiles softly, understanding in her eyes, and promises.

The next day, after Peter and Bruce have left, someone requests to speak with him in person. Curious, Tony pulls up a visual on his computer and sees that Dr. Strange is standing at the front door to his building, hands stuffed into the pockets of his thick overcoat. Tony raises his brows and just stares. Another moment passes, and he sees the taller man huff and press the intercom button again.

“What shall I tell him, sir?” JARVIS asks.

“Nothing yet,” Tony says, grinning and wondering just how long Strange will stand down there without an answer. The sun set two hours ago and it’s freezing outside.

Ten minutes pass, and he’s still standing there. Strange presses the intercom button a few more times, but he never snaps or loses his temper. Just stands there, waiting. Tony notices he’s not wearing gloves.

“This guy…” Tony mutters and narrows his eyes in aggravation. It’s no fun if Strange doesn’t lose his cool.

“What do you want,” Tony snaps over the intercom. Strange startles a bit, which amuses Tony greatly.

“I need to speak with you,” Strange says. A pause. “Please,” he adds. The word sounds so stiff and foreign on his lips. Tony rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Stark International is closed for the day. Please leave a message-”

“ _Please_ ,” Strange says again and Tony wants to turn him away, but the desperation in his voice is so familiar. Too familiar. He has the security cameras get a better visual and he can see that Strange looks more than a little worse for wear. There are bags under his eyes and his beard looks unkempt, which offends Tony to his very soul.

And if he’s being honest, it worries him, too. He might ~~hate~~ really dislike the other man, but Strange looks like he’s been through the wringer and Tony isn’t in the habit of wishing misery on an already emotionally devastated egomaniac. He’s pretty sure that would just be a bit _too_ hypocritical for karma to let slide. If he believed in that sort of thing.

With an eye-roll at himself, Tony buzzes the doctor in and instructs JARVIS to guide him down to his workshop. After a few moments of watching Strange make his way down over the security feed, he’s glad he chose to keep JARVIS sarcastic as it appears they both find Strange’s unease at the disembodied voice hilarious.  

Tony greets him at the elevator. “Ready to kiss and make up?” he asks sarcastically.

Strange doesn’t even rise to the bait. “I apologize for my previous behavior,” Strange says, back to being stiff and aloof. “I misjudged your character and I-” There is the smallest pause. “-need your assistance. Name your price,” he demands, voice low and chin raised as if the conversation itself is beneath him. Tony wonders how often Strange is used to getting his way if this is how he handles an apology.

“For free-lance work?” Tony asks conversationally, smirking. “You couldn’t afford me, sweetheart.”

“I’m a very wealthy man, Mr. Stark. Money is no issue.”

At that Tony laughs. “ _’Wealthy_ ,’ he says. You’re precious.”

Strange’s eyes narrow a fraction and his jaw tightens but again he doesn’t take the bait. Tony can almost see the moment Strange decides to swallow his pride.

“My brother- Victor.” Stephen has to stop talking for a moment. He swallows thickly. “Victor has lost the use of his legs,” he says flatly, gaze locked onto a fixed point just to the right of Tony’s head. “I would like to be able to assist him.” A pause. “And it would appear that you are, in fact, the best option for this. Despite-”

“Despite?” Tony asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

At that, Strange levels him with a glare. “You full well know your reputation precedes you,” he says. “And furthermore, the blatant disregard you have displayed for your own health, given the fact that it’s a fucking miracle you’re even still _alive_ -”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about my life. You have _no_ idea-”

“Shall I call for security, sir?” JARVIS intervenes.

 “No,” Tony replies. “No, Jarvis, that won’t be necessary. Dr. Strange was just leaving.”

Strange opens his mouth to interject but Tony cuts him off. “I’ll help your brother, but we’re done here. Give me his info and I’ll send you the bill. Now get the hell out.” Tony opens the door to the elevator and turns on his heel to head toward his computer.

Later that night, Tony receives an e-mail from Strange. It simply states:

**As per your request.**

Attached are some files on his brother’s condition as well as a few theories Strange has been working through.

Strange had left out the fact that his brother is in a coma and had been that way for nearly five months. Tony frowns; the chances of Victor recovering aren’t good. Strange has to know that.

His mind shifts back to how Strange had showed up at his door, unkempt and at his wits end, yet still somehow managing to maintain his pride, even to his own detriment. Tony huffs, refusing to find the arrogant ass redeemable or relatable. He opens the files of Stephen’s research and lightly scans it. After reading for a few moments he pauses, finds his glasses, and tells JARVIS to take down some notes, voice excited.

He might not want to be in the same room as the doctor, be he’d be damned if anyone else was going to get their hands on this research. So, an hour later, he calls Bruce and tells him they’re adding a neurosurgeon to the team.

-

“Dr. Strange, look at these results.” Peter is beaming, practically vibrating with excitement. “You were right!”

Tony accidentally breaks one of Bruce’s test tubes and hopes this wasn’t the one with the important microorganisms.

Adding a neurosurgeon to the team had been a _stupid_ idea.

-

“He’s… actually got some decent ideas for the receiver. It’s a little more invasive but… It’s a solid start,” Tony says with a frown, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he paces in front of the fireplace.

“That seems like good news,” she says. “Why do you sound so angry?”

“I’m _not_ angry, Pepper,” Tony ~~whines~~ snaps.

“Oh, my god. You’re jealous of him.” She’s laughing, light and airy.

“Hey. That’s offensive,” he says. “I am offended.”

“You’re ridiculous. The man is just trying to help his brother and you can’t stand that he came up with a better idea than you.”

“Sorry, Pep. Going through a tunnel I might lo-” He ends the phone call and tosses the phone onto the couch with perhaps a bit too much force.

Jealous. Pfft. Whatever, Pepper.

-

The look on Rhodey’s face when they upgrade his equipment is enough to release the tension Tony didn’t even know he’d been holding in his shoulders.

“I didn’t think I could…” Rhodey is at a loss for words for a moment so he simply stares at his reflection as it moves with even more ease and grace than before. Tony suddenly finds himself overcome with emotion and turns away from Rhodey for a moment to blink and clear his throat. Surprisingly enough, he’s too happy for his best friend to be mad that someone else has managed to improve _his_ technology. If anything, he’s maybe a bit… impressed.

 

“Sooo. Got any other decent ideas rattling around in that brain?” Tony asks conversationally as they leave DC to head back to New York in his private jet.

“I just want to focus on Victor right now,” Stephen replies quietly, voice almost too low to hear. He never once looks away from the window. It feels like he’s intruding on a private moment, so Tony looks away, wondering what it must be like to care so much for a sibling. His mind shifts back to thoughts of Rhodey and he glances at Stephen again. It’s dark out now and the soft lighting of the cabin has cast his face in warm shadows.  

“Thank you,” Tony says instead of his usual smart-ass one liner. He doesn’t explain, but he doesn’t need to. After a moment, Stephen nods in acknowledgment.

-

“Vanilla latte, cappuccino extra dry, aaand black tea.” It’s Peter, setting a drink carrier down on a mostly-empty workbench.

Tony had ordered the cappuccino but now Bruce’s vanilla latte sounds good. He grabs it and Stephen shoots him a glare.

“Is this what marriage is like?” Tony wonders aloud, voice flat as he glares right back. “All of the nagging but none of the sex.”

The two of them never seem capable of being out-right civil with one another but, since DC, their verbal sparring has at least lost its venom.

“Too much sugar,” Stephen states, as if he’s got a say in anything.

…Tony still ends up putting the drink back on the table. But only after engaging the older man in a ridiculously long lasting staring-eye contest which he _definitely_ wins.

-

“How do you manage to maintain your level of fitness with the shit you eat?” Stephen asks him the next day.

They’re both in the elevator heading downstairs to Tony’s workshop, and in Tony’s defense, no one is supposed to be there right now, and he was _supposed_ to be able to eat a god damn cheese burger in peace tonight.

Still, ~~due to his massive ego~~ somehow Tony manages to hear the hidden compliment. He cocks his head to the side and grins, pleased. “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “I _think_ you’re giving yourself heart disease,” he quickly replies, voice clipped. But Tony swears he sees a blush dusting those sharp cheekbones, and he stores away _that_ little bit of information for later.

 

-

That night, on a whim, Tony digs up Stephen’s file again, actually taking the time to read through it all.

 

 

 

He sees the word _deceased_ more times than he cares to count, and wonders what else they have in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I went back and tried to make the timeline make sense, so I have made some changes but nothing too huge. Also, I am picking and choosing what to use for their back stories but I am mostly pulling from MCU and 616. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Mutually Beneficial Renegotiation

Tony is spending the weekend upstate, working on one of his larger projects with the help of a small team of engineers.

“You’ve got an incoming message from Ms. Potts, sir,” JARVIS announces. “It’s marked urgent.”

Uh-oh.

Tony takes off his welding helmet and sets it down by the plasma cutter. He turns AC/DC down and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Do I want to read it? Am I in trouble?”

“I’m certain I wouldn’t know, sir,” JARVIS replies.

Tony glares at a camera above him, then motions for Dum-E to clean up his work area. Grabbing his phone, he plops down in the cabin of his latest creation and decides to just rip off the band-aid and read it now.

 **To: Tony Stark**  
**From: Pepper Potts**  
**Subject: Collaborative work with Dr. Strange**

 **I cannot believe you agreed to these terms** , it begins. No, “Hey Tony, how are you? And by the way, what were you thinking?” or even a “Mr. Stark, with all due respect, have you lost your mind?” Just straight to the point. One sentence in and Tony gets the impression he’s supposed to feel chastised.

**Do you realize we have basically no rights to any of his research? What happens if things turn sour? This is going to be a mess. I’ve already been in touch with legal. I’m calling you at 8 AM for a conference- we’re going to fix this.**

**Pepper**

Tony rolls his eyes. Strange had only tested his proposed upgrades on Rhodey so they could get some immediate feedback on his research. Tony has agreed to help Strange with his brother and nothing more; he doesn’t have any further rights to the other man’s work; once they finalized the equipment for Victor, they will go their separate ways. 

…At least, that’s the story Tony’s currently going with. In all honesty, he’s confident they’ll renegotiate. Stephen’s got to see how lucrative this can be, and beyond the bottom line, what doctor would want to withhold something like this from the public? No, Tony is absolutely certain Strange is going to want to cut a deal. He’s too narcissistic to keep such an achievement to himself. Patting yourself on the back is no fun after a while, something Tony understands intimately.

And the best part of all this is, Tony is the only one with the tech advanced enough to make Strange’s theories actually work. He has Strange _right_ where he wants him. The thought is enough to make him grin, pleased with himself, and he quickly shoots Pepper a text to gloat.

Sure, Strange hasn’t agreed to anything _yet_ , but he will.

Tony Stark always gets his way.

-

Bruce is at a genetics conference in Hong Kong and Peter is on Christmas break. So, finally, after weeks of almost constantly having someone under-foot, he is going to get a few weeks of peace and quiet. Uninterrupted time to think and get some of his own work done. Maybe he’ll even go back upstate and finally finish-

“Do you ever leave?” Strange asks, barely looking up from his computer as Tony steps out of the elevator and into his workshop. He stares, brows furrowed and eyes wide, at the doctor who seems to have made himself quite comfortable in _his_ lab.

“Do _you_?” Tony snaps back, walking towards him. “At least I have the excuse of having my name on the side of the building.”

“If I’m inconveniencing you, I can go,” Strange says as if it’s a threat and not a concession.

 Tony waves a lazy hand at him. “I’m honestly used to it by now,” he says as he breezes past him to his own work station and picks up the helmet he’s been working on. He’s seen the piece of shit masquerading as a helmet Peter had tucked under his arm. One bad fall on his skateboard and there goes Tony’s ~~investment~~ intern. So, it has to go.

Tony glances up slightly; from his position, he has a clear view of Stephen’s profile. He’s wearing reading glasses and frowning at his tablet. For some reason, ‘What’s wrong?’ almost comes out of Tony’s mouth, but he stops himself mid-inhale. The action is enough to draw Stephen’s attention.

After a moment of openly staring at each other, “No date tonight?” is what comes out instead because anything else just seems too friendly.

It’s odd Stephen is here. They’ve finished everything they could on Victor’s model for now, and while Stephen does spend a good deal of time at the Tower, it’s never really in excess. And it’s certainly never so late at night.

Stephen looks back at his work and ignores him so Tony, naturally, presses on. “Did Christine dump you again?” he asks lightly. Thanks to reading the doctor’s entire file ~~and doing some of his own research~~ Tony finally has a name for the woman he always sees Strange with.

At that question, Stephen purses his lips. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t been together in months,” he says, voice flat. “We’re just friends.”

Tony makes a tiny ‘o’ with his mouth, then drums his fingers on his desk for a moment. Stephen’s frank admission has suddenly sobered the mood. Killjoy. Tony stares for a bit longer but it’s obvious that to Stephen he may as well no longer be in the room. Tony wants to roll his eyes (so he does) but… he has, at least begrudgingly, come to admit that the two of them have a bit in common. The fact that they’re both here at eleven pm on a Friday night instead of literally anywhere else only gives that thought credence.

But that doesn’t explain why Stephen is _here,_ as in, at Stark Tower, though. They hadn’t made plans to work tonight. In fact, Tony had made sure to block out the next few days on his calendar. A calendar which Strange has access to, Tony remembers with a gleam in his eye.

It’s not going to be difficult to renegotiate at all, if Stephen doesn’t seem to mind spending his free time here.

“I ordered a pizza,” he announces suddenly.

“Of course you did,” Strange says with a long-suffering sigh. _Why_ does everyone do that around him?

Tony is about to tell Strange where he can shove his attitude when JARVIS announces the delivery has arrived. He answers the door, tips an absurd amount, and is about to head up to his suite when he pauses. Strange is an asshole, but if he wants to get the ball rolling on a business deal, well, there’s no time like the present. His thoughts, unbidden, shift back to the night the two had flown back from DC and how pensive and worn Stephen had looked… Tony taps an index finger on the rim of the pizza box and scoffs at himself, trying to think of something else.

“JARVIS, tell Dr. Strange to come have dinner with me,” he says.

“Wouldn’t it be more thoughtful an invitation coming directly from you, sir?” the AI asks.

Tony snorts. “I’m not trying to wine and dine the guy, Jarvis. Just tell him.”

Fifteen minutes pass, and Tony supposes Strange has refused the invitation. He wouldn’t know; he’s not ~~desperate~~ curious enough to check the security feeds. ~~Yet.~~ Tony shrugs it off, only slightly pissy about it. He takes the stairs up to the seating area overseeing the dining room and kitchen and throws himself onto one of the couches. He turns on the television and begins to flip through the channels, absentmindedly eating a slice of pizza.

He stops on a channel. Re-runs of _House_ are playing, but Tony has had enough of egotistical doctors for one evening, thank you very much, so he keeps flipping.

“Sir, Dr. Strange is on his way up,” JARVIS announces.

“Shit.” Tony practically jumps up and takes the stairs down to the main floor two at a time. “Where’re the damn plates,” he mutters, rummaging through the kitchen. He hasn’t personally entertained in- well, let’s just say it’s been a while, but he’s got too much pride to eat straight from the box in front of the other man.

The elevator door opens, and Tony quickly stands up, gracefully setting two plates on the countertop.

Not for the first time, Tony notices how damn good looking Strange is, even with the perpetual scowl. Maybe wining and dining wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Tony narrows his eyes and smirks, leaning a hip against the counter. “Hungry?” he asks, voice low.

Strange rolls his eyes at him, taking a seat at the island. “Stop coming on to me, Stark,” he snaps. “I know you want to renegotiate our terms,” he says. “You don’t need to…” Stephen glances around the room distastefully. “Never mind,” he says. “I’m interested in revisiting our agreement.”

Tony raises a brow and smirks. “Interested, huh?” He takes a few steps forward and leans his elbows against the stone counter of the island, directly across from Stephen.

“Possibly. I’d be more interested if you’d shut up from time to time, though,” Strange deadpans.

Tony laughs, loud and genuine, and decides he definitely wants to do more than just renegotiate.

-

 **I can’t make it today** , reads the text. It’s from Stephen, who was supposed to come by today and take a look at the improved prototype Tony has finished. He shrugs it off, tells Strange they can just reschedule, and doesn’t think anything of it after that.

At least, at first. But, for some reason, Tony can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. It isn’t like Strange to miss an appointment. Even though he never talks about his brother, Victor, it’s obvious from the long hours spent in the lab, the extensive amount of research he’s done, and his single-minded drive to succeed at all costs- it’s all of this combined that lets Tony know just how much Victor means to Stephen. So, for him to cancel at the last minute is… really odd.

Again, Tony’s mind wanders back to the night on the plane. That had been the first time Stephen had seemed real. Fragile. Breakable. Tony was so used to only seeing the arrogance, he hadn’t realized beneath that could lay a damaged and weary man. It was the first time Tony had finally been able to see that Strange, just like himself, wore his sarcasm and ego like armor.

He rubs a hand over his face and groans. Tony just wants to keep working with Strange. Maybe even hook up a few times if the doctor can manage to get that stick out of his ass. But he’s _not_ trying to spend his free time _thinking_ about him like some worried, love sick teenager.  

 

 

 

 

(Still. He’s worried.)

-

By the next day, Strange still hasn’t let him know when he’ll be free to meet, which Tony finds extremely rude and unforgivable. So, there’s really nothing else for him to do.

“He’s expecting me,” Tony says to the receptionist in Strange’s office, giving her a wink. For about point two seconds he contemplates knocking before simply letting himself in. He shuts the door behind himself and sits down in one of the sleek chairs in front of Strange’s desk.

Stephen glares at him. “I have a two o’clock.”

“I know. I am your two o’clock,” Tony says, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s not what your schedule says,” Tony says with an innocent shrug.

“What do you want, Stark.” Strange demands, glaring at him and sounding much more put-upon than is strictly necessary, in Tony’s opinion.

“Why did you cancel yesterday?” Tony asks pointedly, gaze unwavering. His tone is, perhaps, a little too sharp, but he’s getting sick of the doctor’s moodiness. At that question, it almost looks like Stephen’s expression might crumble and in that brief moment, Tony sees the exhaustion and misery in his eyes.

He wonders if anything happened to Victor, but even he knows asking the doctor that would be crossing a line. It’s glaringly obvious Strange doesn’t want to talk about it, whatever it is, and that’s something Tony can respect. ~~Usually~~.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Tony says, suddenly shifting gears. They need to go over the prototype, but a meal first wouldn’t hurt.

“For what purpose?” Strange asks, back to looking extremely over this conversation.

“For what-” Tony laughs a bit at that. “For the pleasure of my company, obviously.”

Strange just sits there, clearly waiting for more of an incentive. When none is given, he says, “I’m good, thanks.” A pause. “Tell me you didn’t mess with my calendar just to have this conversation.”

Tony flushes a bit ~~at being called out~~ because it’s warm in there. He clears his throat and sits up straighter, brushing an imaginary speck from his suit.  

“Get over yourself, Strange,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “We need to iron out a few things. Meet me at L’Espalier at seven,” he says, and sees himself out.

-

Tony blinks and stares when he steps off the elevator and into the main floor of his penthouse suite. He must have forgotten it was nearly time for the SI Christmas party because, for a moment, the decorations startle him. He doesn’t personally care for the holidays, but it’s a tradition Pepper had kept up in Malibu, and he’s decided to keep it going here as well, regardless of his personal feelings. His employees love it, and it’s always a great time to make connections, if nothing else. Besides, he knows Peter is looking forward to it this year and that, at least, is a positive.

He walks passed the twenty-five foot tall tree, decked out in vibrant reds and golds, and picks up an old black and white photograph from his mantle. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften as he runs a thumb over his mother’s cheek.

-

Tony arrives early for dinner. Stephen is already there, and he stands up when Tony approaches their table. His suit is such a dark blue it’s almost black, but his tie is nearly the same shade as his eyes. Tony swallows thickly, taking in the view.

“Hello, Strange doctor,” he says with a wink, his earlier annoyance at the man completely forgotten.

The server offers them wine and Tony is quick to order some for them both, mostly just to annoy the older man. Stephen doesn’t speak at first, but when it becomes apparent Tony isn’t touching his glass, he narrows his eyes. “Did you order wine just to get on my nerves?” Strange asks. Tony shrugs, smiling. “Maybe,” he says, pretending to read his menu. He glances up and sees that the corner of Strange’s lip is turned up ever so slightly and Tony decides to get straight to the point.

“Come by my place after dinner,” he says.

“This is work related?” Stephen asks purposely.

Tony raises a brow, confused. “Yes?” he says. “You did want to see the updates… right?”

Strange looks away for a moment, working his jaw. “Yes… Yeah, sure. Of course.”

Tony blinks a few times, then glares. “Wait, you thought I was hitting on you and… And _that’s_ the response I get?” Sure, Strange turned him down that one time in his car, but he had mostly been kidding then. Now he’s just shocked and offended ~~and a tiny bit hurt~~. “Wow. Wow. You wound me. I am wounded,” he scoffs.

Strange levels him with a stare that could melt titanium. “I am never going to sleep with you, Mr. Stark,” he says with such finality that Tony almost lets the subject go. Almost. He opens his mouth, but the doctor continues before he can say anything. “I am here out of necessity and nothing more. So, try to keep your libido in check and stay on topic henceforth.”

“Who the hell says ‘henceforth’?” Tony grumbles, embarrassed.

“Who the hell gets offended their _business_ _associate_ doesn’t want to sleep with them?” Stephen retorts, exasperated.  

The conversation dries up after that and they order and eat in silence. When they leave, Tony hopes they can part ways at the entrance to the building and then reconvene at the tower. But apparently, they’ve parked near each other as they continue in the same direction after their stilted goodbye. Tony huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets, purposely walking slowly to lose Strange on the street ~~in order to sooth his bruised pride in private~~.

The sun has set hours ago, and the street is crowded with hordes of people. Too many people.

That familiar, nauseating feeling of panic starts to crawl up his spine, threatening to erupt. Tony swallows and takes a shaky breath. It’s been ages since he’s felt this way and he’ll be damned if he’s about to have a panic attack in front of Stephen Strange. He closes his eyes for a moment, willing his heart rate to slow down as he tries to focus on his breath. But his vision swims for a moment and he has to reach out to grab the side of the building.

Someone bumps into him as they walk passed. Behind him, someone else screams with laughter. He vaguely notices his hands have gone numb and he can’t feel the brick under his fingers anymore. His head is pounding, and his knees begin to buckle.

“Just breathe,” a low voice says in his ear. “That’s it… You’re okay. Just breathe.” He hears the words, but they don’t really register. A few moments pass, and finally the worst of it is over. Tony straightens up but doesn’t trust himself to let go of the wall. He loosens his scarf and undoes the buttons of his coat and presses a shaking, frozen hand to his forehead.

“Are you alright?” someone says behind him. He turns, a bit startled, to see Strange and frowns. “I’m fine,” he says. Tony had thought he’d lost Strange in the crowd.

“Let me drive you home,” Strange offers.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony says once more, breathless. He pushes away from the wall and begins to head for his car again.  

Strange scoffs and wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, pulling him in close in order to stabilize him. “Don’t be an idiot, you’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmurs. Then, quickly adds, “You’d be ten times more insufferable if you slipped on some ice.”

“Oh, Mr. Doctor,” Tony’s voice drips with sarcasm as he bats his lashes. “Someone's got a little crush.”

-

Stephen approves of the upgrades. He doesn’t speak much while they work, but Tony catches him staring when Strange thinks he’s not paying attention. Tony isn’t sure what to make of that.

They finish up in the workshop in under an hour. Back in the elevator car, Tony reaches for the operating panel to press the button for the main floor but before he can, Stephen grabs his wrist.

“Are you… alright now?” Stephen asks suddenly, voice almost soft. His gaze is dark and unflinching and Tony can feel the heat rising in his cheeks at the sudden contact.

“Uh… Yes?” Tony replies, brow raised. “Are _you_ alright?”

For a moment, Stephen just looks at him, face unreadable. Then he takes a step toward him and leans into Tony’s personal space.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he whispers. Tony grins, smug at the sudden turn of events. He snakes one arm behind Stephen’s neck and the other around his waist.

“Good,” Tony replies, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

They make-out the entire ride up, open-mouthed, biting kisses fighting for dominance, and by the time they make it to Tony’s floor, Stephen is missing his tie and both their cheeks and necks are red from the scratch of their beards.

“You look good like this, doctor,” Tony whispers in his ear, slipping a hand under his dress shirt. Strange says nothing, just walks Tony backwards and pushes him up against the floor to ceiling window overlooking Midtown, pressing a leg in between his thighs. He bites Tony’s lower lip before dragging his mouth down his neck.

“You still gonna respect me in the morning, Strange?” Tony jokes quietly as he throws his head back to give Stephen better access, but the tremor in his voice gives away just how wrecked he already feels.

“Shut up, Tony,” Stephen half whispers, half growls, and kisses him again.


	6. Sarcasm: The Sixth Love Language

Tony steps out of the en suite and into his bedroom. The sight of Stephen standing in the soft moonlight looking unkempt and unguarded, if only for a moment, is one he could get used to. He gives a small, genuine smile at the sight before remembering himself. The damage is already done though, and he finds his heart swelling and racing for reasons other than simply lust. But he forces those thoughts to the back of his mind for now. Without showing a trace of his inner turmoil, Tony saunters toward Stephen like a cat after its prey, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Why are you still dressed?” he asks lightly, tossing his dress shirt over the back of a chair. His undershirt is gone in the next breath and his socks and trousers soon follow. In this lighting, the scars on his chest from the wound and multiple surgeries that followed aren’t as visible as they would be in the light of day. He doesn’t like to think of himself as self-conscious about anything, but he’s got to admit, at least to himself, that he’s glad for the gentle twilight. Not that he’s not still ridiculously good looking. Tony winks, a knowing look in his eye as he catches Strange staring.

Stephen rolls his eyes but undoes the remaining buttons of his silk shirt. Tony closes the distance between them and bats Stephen’s hands out of the way, taking over. “You’re taking too long,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against Stephen’s neck. Goosebumps appear, and he kisses and bites at them, his beard leaving the skin raw. Finally getting him down to his boxer briefs, Tony walks Stephen backwards and pushes him down until he’s sitting on the edge of the oversized king bed.

“I’ve been thinking about this, doctor,” Tony says as he straddles him, one hand on his shoulder, and the other tugging at the short hairs on the nap of his neck. He wonders if Strange has a thing for being called ‘doctor’ outside of the operating room. He sure hopes so, because fuck if it doesn’t do it for Tony. “Should’ve don’t this _weeks_ ago.”

Nipping at Tony’s collar bone, Stephen glides his hands, strong and steady, up the back of Tony’s muscled thighs and settles them on his ass. “Maybe we would have if you’d stop talking about yourself every five minutes,” he says, digging his fingers into the firm flesh to punctuate his point.

“I can be quiet,” Tony replies, licking his way into Stephen’s mouth, sliding his tongue over the smooth edges of his teeth and catching the pointed corner of an incisor. Stephen gasps into the kiss and Tony takes that moment to kiss him more deeply, exploring. Stephen gives as good as he gets, and soon takes over the kiss. Tony can’t help but chuckle; he was wondering when the control freak in the other man would come out.

Not that Tony minds at all. Especially when Stephen quickly moves one hand to the back of his neck and the other around his torso and flips Tony onto his back so that it’s Stephen on top now. Tony takes the opportunity to spread his legs more and hook an ankle around one of Stephen’s long legs, grinding their cocks together through the fabric of their underwear until they’re both panting like teenagers.

-

“--No. Isolating the enzyme did nothing,” Tony can hear Stephen speaking to someone over his phone. It’s the middle of the night. The sound of his voice had woken him. “That doesn’t matter. It won’t make it to clinicals soon enough, regardless.” He sounds weary and frustrated. Tony rolls over in bed to see a sliver of light streaming into the room; Stephen must not realize he’s left the bathroom door open. It’s obvious to Tony that this is a private conversation, what with Stephen being in another room and barely speaking above a whisper, but Tony just can’t help himself. When common sense and curiosity go tête-à-tête, curiosity always wins.

Besides, what if he’s talking about Victor? Stephen never talks about his brother. The only things Tony knows is what JARVIS had been able to find on the internet. There had been a few articles about the accident, apparently Victor had been hit by a speeding car after leaving Stephen’s flat. Tony didn’t know any of the other details, but god, how fucking awful and traumatizing that must have been for Stephen…

Other than the accident, there was nothing to be found about Victor Strange, not even any updates on his well-being. Naturally after meeting so many dead ends, Tony had then tried to hack into Metro General’s servers, but the fail-safe Pepper installed behind his back had shut _that_ little party down before it could even get started.   

So, he doesn’t feel a bit of remorse for listening in. Strange will never tell him, so this is probably the only way Tony will learn anything about ~~him~~ his brother.

“I know. I _know_ ,” Stephen says, voice almost breaking. There’s a long pause for a while. Tony can hear his heart beating in his ears, suddenly nervous. “No. No, I’m _going_ to find another way- I don’t care. I know that, and I don’t care.” Another pause. Christine must be speaking. “Oh, really?” Stephen says, voice turning cold. “You always say you won’t help anymore but we both know yo- Christine? …Christine?” Stephen growls something Tony can’t understand and suddenly the sliver of light is spilling into the room, the edges brushing the foot of the bed.

Tony closes his eyes and hopes he passes for sleeping.

“I apologize if I woke you,” Stephen says, not sounding sorry at all. “Hear anything interesting?”

“Oh, calm down. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.” Tony clears his throat and sits up. “Well, not at first, anyway. But to be fair, most people shut the door _all_ the way when they want privacy.”

Stephen huffs a laugh but its distant and hollow.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks quietly. “That sounded… Look, I’m not known for being delicate so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it- nothing about that conversation was healthy. And my standard for healthy is, according to a _certain_ medical professional, set a bit too low, so, I think that’s saying something.”

Stephen, staring out the windows again, seems to be ignoring him. Not one to let a lack of attention stop him, Tony keeps talking. “If anything is going on, maybe I can help.” He crawls out of bed wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms sitting low on his hips and stands behind the taller man, running a warm, callused hand down his back. Stephen is fully dressed, but Tony must have done something right if he’s still here. Tony can’t help but smirk at the thought.

There’s tension in Stephen’s shoulders and Tony happens to know he gives an amazing back rub, so he works his fingers into the tense muscles of his neck. Stephen doesn’t quite melt into the touch like Tony expects, but he doesn’t push him away, either. “No guarantee I can fix whatever’s going on but seeing as I’m a genius there’s a pretty good chance I most likely _can_. So, spill.”

“You’re insufferable,” Strange says but Tony swears he can hear a smile in his voice. Stephen never tells him what’s going on, but he does turn around to pull Tony against him for a deep and lingering kiss, so Tony still counts it as a win. Even if Stephen does, a few moments later, stiffly push Tony away, face set in a scowl.

“See you, Stark,” he addresses the wall just to the left of Tony’s ear before straightening his suit and making a hasty retreat.

-

It’s been a while since they hooked up, and Stephen still hasn’t been back to the workshop. Not that Tony has been counting ~~it’s been 4 days~~ but Stephen is still involved in the project thanks to their successful negotiations, yet apparently doesn’t feel the need to constantly check on (and interfere with) Tony and Bruce’s progress now that they’ve finished with Victor’s equipment. Tony supposes its because Stephen isn’t emotionally invested in the rest of it, which, fair enough, but… It’s just that Tony hadn’t counted on missing- well, maybe not the doctor as a _whole_ (Stephen is too much of a prideful, temperamental asshole to tolerate for more than a few hours at a time, honestly) but damn if he doesn’t miss the conversation.

Before Stephen, Bruce was the only one who could (mostly) keep up with his thoughts and theories. Before Stephen, Pepper and Rhodey were the only ones worth bantering with and the only ones with enough balls to call him on his bull shit.

There aren’t many people who can catch, let alone keep Tony’s attention, but Stephen Strange has.

 **Doing anything this evening?** Tony texts him while he waits for the computer to finish analyzing the software he’s been combing through for bugs. **Come over tonight. I make a mean steak.**

 **I’m busy** is Stephen’s quick and dry response. The succinct rejection smarts; he’d honestly been expecting a better answer than that. Tony happens to know for a fact that Stephen had _thoroughly_ enjoyed himself last time and figured they’d at least hook up a few more times. But okay, be that way, Stephanie. Tony scoffs and tosses his phone on the counter, storming off like a spoiled child not getting his way.

He goes for a run around the indoor track and refuses to name the emotion that’s starting to make itself at home in his chest and in his gut because it feels too much like _wanting_ and Tony doesn’t have time for that.

Afterward, he takes a quick shower and throws himself on his bed to respond to some emails. He should call Pepper. Or finish compiling data and formatting software for his latest endeavor. Or start taking apart his Lamborghini so he can finally make those improvements. Or maybe even get some sleep.

His phone alerts him of a text. It’s from Stephen and Tony can’t seem to open the message fast enough to see what it says.

**Somehow, I find it hard to believe you can cook. And I don’t eat steak.**

Tony rolls his eyes harder than he has in ages (He doesn’t eat steak? Who the hell doesn’t eat steak?) and begins to respond.

“Sir, Dr. Strange wishes to see you,” JARVIS announces.

Tony nearly drops his phone on his face. “What? Where is he?” he asks, trying to ignore how his heart swells at the mention of the doctor’s name.

“Downstairs. Shall I send him up, sir?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, jumping off his bed and rushing to his closet to find a better shirt. He thinks he should be angry, or at least a little ticked off, that Stephen is just inviting himself over like this, but he honestly doesn’t care. “Make some coffee too, would ya?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Tony makes it to the kitchen in time to take out two mugs when the elevator door opens. Stephen walks out and removes his coat. He’s still in his scrubs and his eyes say he’s just come off a 24 plus hour shift and his hair is pushed this way and that. He looks… amazing.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Tony asks with a cheeky grin. Strange rolls his eyes, tells him to shut up, and presses him against the pantry door, kissing him.

-

“Mr. Stark!” Peter practically drags MJ out of the elevator to greet his soon-to-be employer. Peter hasn’t been by since the beginning of winter break because Peter had wanted to spend the entire break working and Tony had wanted him to relax for a few god damn weeks so he could get a well-rested young genius back in the new year.

Peter had been upset, but it had been for his own good. Tony wishes someone had reminded him to take the time to enjoy himself (the healthy way) during his formative years but, no sense in dwelling on that now. At least Peter won’t be making the same mistakes he did.

The two of them are cut from the same cloth; Peter is a workaholic to his core, addicted to his passions and pursuits to the extent of self-neglect, not to mention the accidental neglect and consequential breakdown of personal relationships, as well. Yeah, Pete could definitely thank him later.

Peter extends a hand to shake his, and Tony grabs it firmly and pats him on the back, genuinely happy to see him again. “How was the cabin?” he asks.

“Someone broke a lamp,” MJ says with a shrug before Peter, who is now beat red, can respond.

“Um. It was great. And I-I’ll replace the lamp,” Peter says sheepishly. “Thanks. Um.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says, grinning. He should tell them all the things he’s broken at house parties (because he’s not an idiot, he knows that’s how it got broken) but he’s not going to, because, again, he’s not an idiot. He’d give Peter a heart attack, and he’d give Michelle too many ideas.

“I’ve got something for you, kid,” Tony says, beckoning for Peter to follow him over to the Christmas tree. The crowds of people automatically make way for Tony to walk through.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you really don’t have to-”

Tony rolls his eyes and thrusts a gift into Peter’s hands. “Can we please skip that part? Just take the box and open it, kid.”

Peter blushes, embarrassed, and opens it. He pulls out a sleek helmet and a car key. Eyes wide, he stares up at Tony.

“I- what?” he asks, voice cracking.

“I’ve been toying around with a new metal alloy,” Tony says, explaining the helmet. “If you’re going to skate everywhere, at least wear something on your thick skull that will actually protect it.”

“A-and the… key?” Peter asks, sounding two seconds away from fainting or possibly crying.

“Oh, same thing. Test it out for me, will you? If you don’t like driving, give it to your aunt,” Tony says easily, as if he’s _not_ talking about a vehicle that costs more money than Peter will ever see in his entire life. “The data’s all set to go to my lab,” Tony continues.

“I, um, I- what?”

MJ sighs. “What Peter’s trying to say is, ‘Thanks, I’ll take it as long as you cover the taxes.’” she says, growing impatient with her sweet-natured boyfriend.

Tony laughs and decides he likes Michelle Jones.    

He leaves them to enjoy the party and scans the crowd for Bruce before someone insipid tries to talk to him. His gaze travels up to the suspended seating area and finds him. Tony heads up the stairs, but on his way sees Stephen Strange walking down, accompanied by a woman Tony doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t know why, but the sight just doesn’t sit well with him. Tony passes them on the stairs without a word to Strange.

He chats with Bruce and Natasha, shakes hands with a few associates, and artfully avoids a Senator who’s been trying to get a meeting with him for ages. Through it all, his gaze keeps searching out Stephen. And every time he spots him, he’s still speaking to the same woman. Tony narrows his eyes and frowns. Who the hell is she?

“They’re not sleeping together,” a rich, feminine voice says behind him. It’s Natasha. Tony turns to face her, brow raised.

“Obviously,” he says dismissively. “He could do much better.”

Natasha smiles like she knows everyone’s secrets. “Is that right?” she asks. She reaches forward, picking an invisible piece of lint from Tony’s suit jacket and smoothing a hand down the lapels. Tony’s eyes cut back to Stephen and their eyes meet. A moment later, Stephen glances to Natasha, face unreadable, before turning his attention back to his apparent plus one.

Tony tries to catch his gaze a while later, but Stephen pointedly looks away.

-

-

A few days later, Tony has a working lunch with some business associates from Germany. At this point, he’s not even surprised to see that Dr. Strange is there, as well. He’s dining with several others, including the same woman Tony had seen at the Christmas party. Tony’s lip curls a bit and he rolls his eyes.

He tries, half-heartedly, to pay attention to the conversation at hand. He’s fluent in German but he hasn’t used the language in ages, so he should focus. But a few seconds later, his gaze wanders back over to the doctor’s table.

The woman is kissing another man on the cheek, squeezing his hand. A moment later, the same man excuses himself from the table, clapping a hand on Stephen’s shoulder as he walks away. Tony should probably wonder why he suddenly feels so relieved to learn that Natasha had been right, but he can’t be bothered to worry about that right now; he’s too smug.

She’s _clearly_ just a friend of Stephen's. Not that he didn’t already know that. And not that it would matter anyway.

Because Tony’s just a friend, too...

He spends the entire meal stealing glancing at Strange’s table. Stephen’s eyes are distant; it’s obvious that where ever his mind is, its far away from everyone sitting around him. His jaw is clenched shut, lips pursed, and brows furrowed tight in worry. Every inch of him sits ridged, unnatural, most likely trying to control an anxious tremor. Something must have happened. Tony wonders if its about Victor.

He tries to read lips but they’re seated too far away. By the time his lunch meeting finally ends, he still has no idea what’s going on with the doctor. Stephen and his lunch companions are taking their time sitting and chatting when Tony leaves with his associates. As he walks by Stephen's table, their eyes meet again.

And for fuck’s sake, his heart _really_ needs to stop skipping a beat every time Strange looks at him.

Outside, his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Strange and Tony opens the message a bit too eagerly. **I’ve got a long lunch and we’re finishing up here. Come over to my place.**

Tony blinks a few times and just stares at his phone for a moment. Is the prissy doctor inviting him over for a mid-day quickie? A grin slowly spreads across his face.

 **Presumptuous of you to think I’d be free right now** he replies.

Stephen doesn’t respond, only sending him the address. Tony smiles and shakes his head. “What an asshole,” he laughs as he puts the address into his GPS.

Tony had been right, the doctor’s home is a pent house in the Flatiron District, in a gorgeously remodeled building- all seamless white and glass panels. Strange lets him in and Tony finds that while the dark hardwood flooring and antique fluted cast-iron columns aren’t his style, the doctor’s home is as impeccably kept and curated as anything else about him.

Except for (eye twitch) his smartphone.

“I’m sorry, is that a Huawei?” Tony asks incredulously, brows raised.

Strange blinks and then looks down at the phone in his hand. “Yes?” he says, setting it on the kitchen counter as if it isn’t an affront to Tony and all that he finds Holy and Sacred. “Can I get you anything, water?”

“No, no, I’m good.” Tony says, throwing his overcoat on the coat hanger. “And I’m getting you a new phone. A _real_ phone. Seriously, how have I not noticed this absolute travesty before?” Tony bemoans dramatically.  

Stephen just looks at him like he’s starting to get a headache but luckily for the both of them, Tony quickly moves on when he spots the grand piano at the farthest end of the room. “Do you play?” he asks, walking toward it.

“Yes,” Stephen says, approaching him. “A bit.”

“Modesty really doesn’t suit you,” Tony replies.

At that, Stephen grins. “Is that so?” he asks quietly, closing the distance between them.

 

-

-

 

They manage to meet a few more times without fighting and ruining everything.

Tony supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, but a small part of him had been looking forward to ringing in the new year with Stephen.

Oh, well.

 

-

-

 

The New Year’s party is still in full swing when Tony leaves without telling a soul.

Pepper has been in the hospital for two days. And he had to find out about it online.  Exactly five minutes ago and completely by accident. Numb, he steps behind the bar on his way to the elevator and grabs a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Two seconds later, the bottle is ripped out of his hands.

“What the fu-”

“Trust me. You’ll thank me later.” It’s Dr. Strange. Tony feels his upper lip curl but doesn’t respond. They haven’t spoken in days, not since the fight, and Tony certainly doesn’t want to start talking _now_.

“Stuff it, sawbones,” he growls and keeps walking.

Stephen catches up and slips into the elevator car with him. Tony ignores him, intent on calling and texting Happy for the seventeenth time.

“It’s me. Again,” Tony says, voice flat. “I’m coming to see Pepper.” A deep breath. “Is everything- - Just call me back.”

“Is everything alright?” Strange asks.

Tony continues to ignore him and calls Rhodey, but it goes straight to voicemail. He curses and runs a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm. Pepper is fine. She’s fine. Gossips love to blow things out of proportion. Pregnancy is tough on women sometimes… The hospitalization is just a precaution, most likely. Happy will call him back any minute now and tell him it was just her blood sugar or that she needs to rest. She’s fine.

She’s _fine_.

“Tony, I don’t think you-”

“Who the hell asked you, Strange? Huh?” Tony snaps, suddenly whirling on him.

If Tony’s outburst affects Stephen, he doesn’t let on. “You’re not going to be able to schedule a last minute flight with your own plane tonight, Stark. There’s too much air traffic already.”

Tony can’t think of a single good comeback to that because there isn’t one. Stephen’s right; at the very earliest he’d be able to fly out in the morning. But that’s not soon enough for Tony. He’s got to see Pepper _tonight_. God, dammit.

He turns his face away from the taller man, grinding his jaw. His eyes prickle with pent up fear and frustration, wishing the elevator would reach its fucking destination already.

“I could drive you to LaGuardia. I’m sure you can catch a flight.” A long, awkward pause. “If all the planes are full, it’s not like you can’t buy someone’s ticket off them.”

“I can drive myself,” Tony says dismissively. The elevator door finally opens, thank god, and Tony quickly steps out of it and heads for a vehicle. A bodyguard approaches him and Tony has to force himself to not snap at him as well.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week,” Stephen says quickly, trying to get Tony’s attention before he’s too far away and the distance distorts his words. “I shouldn’t have… Tony, please... Oh, come _on_ , would you just listen?!”

Tony keeps walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, you two are drama queens.


	7. 'Like' is such a strong word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where this fast update came from; everything just seemed to work in my favor, haha!

**A week before New Year’s Eve:**

Tony wakes up before Stephen. This makes two nights in a row he’s stayed over and Tony wonders if maybe this is becoming something they should talk about. He’s in uncharted territory here and isn’t sure of the protocol; a one night stand is easy, cut and dry. You hook up, then you both go on your merry way. But this is different. They aren’t quite friends, but they certainly aren’t lovers, either… And to say they are simply colleagues, associates… That would be wrong, as well.

He’d say friends with benefits but, like he said, they aren’t friends.

Tony shrugs and figures that it probably doesn’t matter; he’s enjoying himself and so is Stephen. If Strange doesn’t feel the need to talk about this (whatever it is) then neither does he. Mind made up, Tony heads for the kitchen to make his not-friend-but-also-not-lover some coffee. And maybe a bagel and some eggs; Tony is feeling magnanimous this morning.

“Morning, princess,” he says when he returns to his bedroom, carrying a tray with coffee cups and various breakfast foods, sans eggs because he burnt an entire dozen in his attempt.

“You made… breakfast,” Stephen says. His baritone voice is like gravel first thing in the morning and the sound sends a shiver down Tony’s spine as thoughts of the pervious night flit through his mind, warm breath on the shell of his ear and strong, deft fingers playing down his spine, grabbing him, pulling him closer.

Tony clears his throat and gestures to the seating area facing the east. It’s nearly ten in the morning and the winter sun is high in the sky, making Tony’s bedroom feel warm and inviting. Stephen looks from Tony and his tray to the loveseat and coffee table, brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” Strange asks.

Tony rolls his eyes, a little ~~hurt~~ annoyed that Stephen is reacting like this. “Never stayed for breakfast before, huh?” he asks, laughing to hide how uncertain he feels now. Strange just raises a brow and doesn’t move. “Oh, calm down. It’s a bagel, not a marriage proposal,” Tony finally snarks. “Afraid you’ll break out in hives or something?”

That seems to snap Stephen out of whatever morning-after crisis he was about to start having. “Why, does that often happen to your dates?”

Tony grins slowly. “So, this is a date?” he asks, batting his eyes and hoping to make the other man uncomfortable.

“You’re impossible,” Stephen says, shaking his head. But there’s a small smile on his lips and he doesn’t say no.

“Last time I was ‘ _insufferable’_ , and yet you’re still here,” Tony sing-songs, grinning.

They end up back in bed, and neither of them gets ready for the day until well after two in the afternoon. Tony lets Stephen use the master bath to shower; he wants to suggest conserving water and showering together but Tony gets the distinct impression that crosses a line for the older man, if his reaction to breakfast was any indication.

Tony rolls his eyes at the thought as he turns on the shower in one of the guest suits’ bathrooms. If Pepper thought Tony was terrible at relationships- He freezes for a moment at the realization, then sighs and huffs a self-depreciating laugh under his breath and rests his forehead against the cool tile of the shower, letting the water beat against his back.

If Tony is half as terrible at relationships, even friendships, as Stephen apparently is, no wonder Pepper always kept him at arms-length.

He scrubs himself clean and wonders at the poetic justice of Tony Stark falling for someone even more emotionally unavailable than himself.

-

Stephen steps out of Tony’s bedroom and heads for the elevator to take him down to the garage.

“Hang on, Pep,” Tony says, taking the phone from his ear. “Hey, wait a minute,” he calls, looking up over the rim of his glasses from his desk. “I forgot to tell you-”

“I’ve got to get to the hospital,” Stephen cuts him off without pausing. The elevator opens and Stephen steps into the car. “See you, Stark,” he says, not looking at Tony, who at this point is used to the doctor’s awkward and extremely abrupt departures.

He has JARVIS connect the call and sets his phone down. “He’ll be back,” he tells Pepper, absentmindedly checking the progress on the database dump.

“Hot doctor?” Pepper asks.

“Mmm,” Tony replies.

“What did you forget to tell him?” she asks. “Wait- _wait_ , didn’t he spend the night yesterday?”

“That I gave him a new car. And yes.”

“Oh, Tony. _Tony._ ”

“What?” he asks, leaning back in his chair to get a better view of the security feed. Stephen must have finally noticed; he’s storming back toward the elevator. Tony laughs and tells JARVIS to pretend to malfunction for a bit to mess with the doctor, unable to stop himself from fucking with the other man every chance he gets.

“You really like this guy,” she says. It’s not a question.

“Like is such a _strong_ word, Pepper,” Tony says.

“Oh, stuff it. You’re making his life difficult and giving him expensive things. Standard Tony Stark modus operandi.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony lies. “Also, I’ve got to go.”

“Stop hanging up on me! Tony Stark, I swear-”

He ends the connection just as the elevator door opens. An agitated Stephen Strange steps out of the lift, holding up a small key in his hand.

“What the hell is this?” he demands.

“That’s a car key, Stephen,” Tony says slowly.

“Obviously. I meant why was it in my coat pocket. And where are _my_ keys.”

Tony walks toward him and tosses a set of keys to him. Stephen catches them with one hand and glares at Tony when he gets a good look at them. “My car key is missing.”

“I know. I had my driver send your car home last night,” Tony says matter-of-factly. A pause. “I’m making cars now; did I tell you?”

“You had someone drive _my_ -”

“Well, you can’t exactly drive two cars at once, so, you’re welcome.”

Stephen just stares at him for what feels like ages, nostrils flared and jaw clenched. Not the reaction Tony had been expecting. At all. He thinks back on everything he’d done, wondering where he’d miscalculated.

“I know you’re used to doing whatever you want, _getting_ whatever you want,” Strange says, voice dangerously quiet. “But I’m not one of your yes men, Stark. And I don’t need any _favors_.”

‘ _Least of all from you_ ,’ seems to hang in the air, thick and nearly suffocating, but Tony quickly plays it off.

“You sure are uptight for a man getting laid regularly,” Tony says, voice betraying none of the emotions he’s actually feeling. “And it’s not a gift, so get over yourself. I’ve seen the way you handle a sports car. I just want you to test it out for me, tell me how she drives.” Tony gives Stephen a pointed look that would make Rhodey proud. “Oh, and I’ll get performance stats back at the lab as well, full disclosure.”

Stephen blinks and his cheeks turn pink when he realizes he jumped the gun. But it serves him right, being a dick when Tony was just trying to give him a present. (Yeah okay, so the car _was_ a gift. He’d given one to Pepper and Peter and _they’d_ been grateful. So, screw Strange. It sure as fuck isn’t a gift _now_.)

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Stephen says, still frustrated.

“It was a joke,” Tony says hotly as he turns on his heal and heads back to his desk. “Learn to take a fucking joke, jackass.”

-

That evening, Tony receives a text from Stephen:

**I apologize for this afternoon. How much for the car?**

Tony has never felt both so happy and so smug at the same time. His first reaction is to be a douche and give Stephen a hard time, but his (most likely unhealthy) affection for the older man wins out this time.

 **For you babe? Free ;)** he texts.

Stephen doesn’t respond, but that’s better than arguing, right?

-

Tony meets with his board members for the last meeting of the fiscal year. Pepper isn’t there (she’s apparently got the flu) so Tony sees no reason to pay attention. He doesn’t give a shit about taxes and tunes out five seconds in, scrolling through Instagram. He pauses when he sees a recent post by Peter, who is bloody and dirty with a busted lip and swollen cheek. But he’s still smiling, pointing at the helmet on his head. The one Tony had just given him. The caption reads: **1000/10 would recommend this helmet #StarkTech *skateboarding emoji* *injured smiley* *hospital emoji***

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony mutters under his breath. He stands up and every single pair of eyes in the conference room turn to look at him.

He straightens his tie and pockets his phone but pauses before stepping away from the table when he notices the attention.

“Is there something you needed to add, Mr. Stark?” a woman to his left asks. He raises his brows and purses his mouth. Pepper should know better than to leave him alone with these blowhards. “Oh, I have no idea what we’re talking about right now. I’ve been playing landmine,” he says. “But please, continue.”  Tony nods curtly to the room and speed-walks out, texting for a car and information on Peter.  

He’s at Metro General, and when Tony arrives Peter is waiting to have a CT scan, just to be on the safe side.

“So, want to explain what the hell you were doing?” Tony asks, arms crossed over his chest as he gives the younger man a once over. Peter looks worse for wear in person; there’s even a bloody torn hole in the right knee of his jeans.

Tony can see the rising panic in Peter’s eyes. “Okay, so, I may have misjudged, uh, a bit-”

“Misjudged what,” Tony interrupts.

“Um… The- the distance.”

“…What distance?” Tony asks, teeth clenched.

“…Between the stairs and the sidewalk.”

“What the actual fuck, Peter. It’s December.”

“No, it’s okay to skate on-”

“Parker?” Someone calls, cutting Peter off.

Tony narrows his eyes at him as Peter walks away to be seen; he saw the sigh of relief Peter heaved when the nurse had called him. If Peter thinks they’re done talking he’s got another thing coming.

But to be completely honest… He knows Peter’s fine. The CT scan is completely unnecessary; that helmet could make the impact of a linebacker feel like a friendly pat. Still. If Peter pulls something like that again, Tony swears he’ll kill him.

“Tony? Tony Stark?”

Tony turns from the cappuccino machine to see Christine Palmer. She’s wearing dark scrubs, identical to the ones Stephen always wears, and her hair is pulled into a low ponytail.

“Miss Palmer, it’s a pleasure,” he says, extending a hand and cranking up the charm.

“Ugh, save it. I’ve sworn off your type,” she says, shaking her head.

“My type?” he laughs.

“Look, have you got a minute?” she asks, ignoring his question. “It’s about Stephen.”

Tony tries to hide the gleam in his eye at those words. “I’ve got some time,” he says lightly.

Christine takes them to her office, so they can speak privately.

“I’m going to get right to the point,” she says. “Stephen needs help, but he won’t listen to me.”

“And you think he’ll listen to me?” Tony asks skeptically.

She levels him with a knowing look, raising one delicate brow. Tony just stares at her, face impassive. “I don’t know what you _think_ you know is going on between me and McSteamy, but I can assure you it’s not that.”

“Oh, so you’re not sleeping with him?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, we’re definitely sleeping together,” Tony says offhandedly. “But we don’t, you know… _talk_.”

“I’m not asking you to talk to him,” she almost snaps. “I’m just… asking you to keep being there for him.”

Tony gives her a funny look. Is… is she asking him to look out for Stephen? No one has ever asked him to do that before. Is this what responsible adults feel like on a regular basis? “…Alright,” he says stiffly, strangely humbled by the request and terrified to mess up.

“Thank you,” Christine says, voice barely above a whisper. “You know about… about Victor…” her voice trails off and she stares at him sadly. Tony thinks about the accident and the coma and nods for her to continue.

“Victor’s… never going to get better,” she says. A pause. “Stephen has had a hard time accepting that.”

Tony frowns. “But he commissioned me t-”

“We thought Victor might still pull through then,” she says quickly. “But now his-” Christine has to take a moment to breathe as she blinks back tears. “Now his organs are failing.”

She shuts her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek. “Stephen… Stephen is going to have to make a difficult choice soon and I’m- I’m scared it’s going to break him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, these two FINALLY get some shit off their chest.


	8. At Cross Purposes

Tony waits with Peter until May arrives to fetch her nephew. MJ comes with her, for once wearing an expression other than boredom or disdain, even if she does yell at him before holding him close. Tony is pleased to see they’re using the car, but not in his normal smug way- it’s obvious from the way they handle it that the Parkers appreciate the vehicle (and more importantly, _need_ it) even though they would never in a million years have asked for anything. And that thought- the fact that he’s been able to help someone he cares about, brings more satisfaction than he thought possible.

“Can we give you a lift, Mr. Stark?” May asks kindly.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” Tony replies with a smile. “You guys be safe, okay?” he says, patting the hood of the car and sending them on their way.

Tony wanders back inside out of the cold and takes a seat in the pavilion, facing the windows looking out onto a secluded walk way. There’s a water feature, a small pond, and what must be lush greenery in the spring, but right now its just frozen earth and brittle branches.

He scrolls through social media, trying to ignore his thoughts. He smirks a bit when he sees that the internet has finally been able to put a name to the face Tony has been photographed with several times over the past few months at various functions and parties, and a few times out to dinner, as well. Someone had correctly identified Dr. Stephen Strange from that evening in late October when he had returned Tony’s scarf, and everyone online seems to think they’ve been secretly seeing each other ever since.

‘I _wish_ ,’ Tony thinks with a small pout as he slouches down in his seat. He wonders if Stephen is aware of this gossip but, knowing him, he probably finds this sort of journalism beneath his intelligence. And anyone else who might know about it is probably too afraid to bring it up. Anyone else… except Tony.

With a smirk, he makes a mental note to mention it as soon as possible. But a moment later, his smile falters. ‘ _Yeah, that’s a great idea, Tony_ ,’ he thinks, disgusted with himself. ‘ _Bully the guy when he’s about to lose his only remaining family. That’s a_ great _idea._ ’

He groans and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

What the hell is he supposed to do? Christine asked him to look out for him but what does that mean? What would that even look like? They’re barely cordial with one another outside of a professional context. And it’s not much better inside, either. Stephen has made it abundantly clear that certain lines aren’t to be crossed; talking to him about his day is out of the question, never mind talking to him about Victor. They aren’t friends.

Tony lifts his head and looks off into middle space, a joyless half-smile on his lips. They might not be friends, but by now, there’s no point in denying that Tony’s in love with him.

“What are you doing here?” Stephen asks, pulling him from his thoughts. Tony looks up and their eyes meet. Now that he knows why Stephen looks so worn down and lost, all he wants to do is shield him from it all. Protect him from a world that keeps on taking and taking and taking and never giving anything in return. Make sure that nothing bad ever happens to him, ever again.

But he can’t.

So, he’ll do the next best thing; he’s going to stand by him, in whatever capacity Stephen will allow.

“I figured we could go get hot dogs,” Tony says lightly. “I know a place.”

Stephen doesn’t say anything at first and Tony’s afraid he might say no. “I could eat,” he finally says, never once breaking eye contact. “But I’m picking the place. Some of us like our blood flowing _through_ our veins.”

-

“He jumped off the stairs at Hudson Yards,” Stephen repeats Tony’s words, not quite certain he heard correctly. “And tried to land on his skateboard. For his YouTube channel.”

Tony nods, taking a sip from his americano. Somehow after dinner they had wound up at a coffee shop with Tony recanting Peter’s icy misadventures from that day. “He’s lucky he didn’t lose any teeth,” he says, shaking his head fondly.

“No, he’s just lucky, period,” Stephen amends, looking down at his tea.

Tony quirks a brow. “How so?”

“Because he’s got you looking out for him,” he replies quietly. After a moment, he looks up and meets Tony’s gaze.

Tony’s heart swells painfully at the rare admission. He hates it when Stephen’s kind; it just makes it harder to accept that this, this awkward in-between… _thing_ that they’re doing, is all they’ll ever have.

“Come home with me,” Tony suddenly offers just as Stephen says, “Well, I should be going.”

Tony laughs it off before the mood turns. “Have a good night, Stephen,” he says good naturedly. He stands up and a second later, Stephen follows suit. Tony extends his hand. Stephen takes it and maybe it’s just Tony’s imagination, but he swears Stephen holds it a little longer than strictly necessary, thumb caressing the palm of his hand as he reluctantly lets go.

-

“Mr. Stark, Dr. Strange is here to see you.”

Tony throws a few more jabs and kicks at his Wing Chun dummy. He grabs one of the wooden arms to stop It from spinning and leans against it a bit. “Come aga-” he pants a bit and wipes at his brow. “Come again?”

“Dr. Strange is here,” JARVIS repeats. “He’s getting a bit impatient as well, sir.”

Tony unwraps his knuckles and picks up his phone. No texts, no missed calls. Frowning, he pulls up a visual of the entrance from the garage. Stephen stands outside of the elevator for a moment more before turning around.

“Something you needed?” Tony calls over the intercom.

Strange turns back around, glancing up at what he hopes is the camera. It’s not, but Tony doesn’t feel like correcting him.

“Is that invitation still open?” Stephen asks quietly. His voice sounds almost vulnerable. Drained. He must have noticed, because he quickly follows with, “I was in the area. Figured I’d… stop by.”

It’s a lame excuse, especially for Stephen. Tony should let it slide. But he doesn’t. “In the area my _foot_ ,” he says with a laugh. “You just missed me. Admit it.”

“My _foot_ won’t miss you if you don’t hurry up and let me in. It’s freezing out here.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony says flirtatiously, letting him up.

-

By the time Stephen makes it upstairs, Tony has the lights dimmed and a fire going in the fireplace. Stephen makes himself comfortable in a plush seat facing the balcony, overlooking the distant cityscape below and the endless inky black sky above.

Some time passes before Tony joins Stephen in the main room of the penthouse, appearing in the doorway toweling at his hair. He’s wearing sweats because he’s going for casual, but inside he’s a jittery mess.

 

He remembers getting the news… the news of his parents’ death, back when he was basically still just a kid. Faulty car breaks had been the cause. Faulty _fucking_ car breaks.

He remembers what it felt like to be a stranger to himself, in those hazy months that followed. He remembers what it felt like to have to start over anew, after so much of his very foundation had been ripped out from under him in mere moments.

Stephen knows what that’s like, too. He knows what it’s like to experience that soul-crushing loneliness and loss, what it’s like to silently suffocate on your own grief while the world around you moves on. He knows what it’s like to talk to ghosts. To shadows. To no one at all.

And now, he’s about to go through it all over again. And Stephen knows this, knows this fact intimately. He must wake up, every day, and wonder if this is it. If this is the day it happens again. If this is the day he becomes even more alone.

“I’m, uh- I’m a terrible cook,” Tony finally says, trying to shake those thoughts from his mind as he walks toward the doctor. “And not surprisingly, the rabbit food you fed me earlier didn’t last long. Want to get takeout?”

“Oh, thank god,” Stephen deadpans. “You lit the fireplace; I was afraid you were making oysters or something.”

“Nah, we both know I don’t need to try that hard to impress you,” Tony replies. His voice is light, but his gaze is dark and searching. He knows Stephen will never open up to him about what’s going on, but he can at least distract him for a while. He can at least do that much for Stephen.

“What are you doing?” the doctor asks wearily as Tony kneels before him.

“I’m taking your mind off of things,” Tony replies, voice low, running his hands up Stephen’s thighs. He looks up through thick lashes as he cups Strange’s cock through the fabric of his trousers. “That alright, doctor?” he asks, undoing the button and zipper when no protest is given.

Strange says nothing, only moving closer to him, lifting his hips when Tony hooks his fingers over the hem and pulls his boxer briefs down, as well. He’s already growing hard and Tony hums in approval, stroking the shaft with one hand for a moment before leaning forward and taking the tip into his mouth.

Stephen makes a small noise and Tony smiles around his cock, looking up again. Stephen’s already clutching the armrests and his eyes, half-lidded, are locked on Tony’s mouth. Tony winks and nearly swallows him whole, only to pull back, teeth grazing the tip before taking him all the way back into his mouth once more.

Tony sets a lazy pace, teasing and sucking until Stephen is a panting mess.

“More, _faster_ ,” Stephen whispers harshly, half gone.

Tony doesn’t feel like it just yet, so he keeps his pace slow and torturous, kissing and licking his way up Stephen’s cock, enjoying the heavy, velvety heat on his lips and in his mouth.

Stephen can’t take it, he grabs at Tony’s hair, wordlessly begging him to go faster. Tony obliges, relaxing his throat to take him even deeper. Tony can feel Stephen’s thighs quiver as he bucks. Instead of pushing him back down and trying to hold him in place, Tony places a hand over Stephen’s, urging him to take control. In the next moment, Stephen is moving even faster, clutching at Tony’s hair as he holds his head in place.

That’s enough to send a nearly unbearable wave of desire to Tony’s cock, and with a desperate, shaky hand, he jerks himself off to completion in a matter of moments while Stephen fucks into his mouth again and again and _again_.

With a muffled cry, Stephen comes. Tony licks his lips, and sits back on his heels, a satisfied grin on his face.

“So, does Chinese sound good?”

-

After they eat, Tony convinces Stephen to sit on the balcony for a while. And between the firepit and the heated blanket they’re sharing, the winter cold, for once, doesn’t bother him. And that’s actually saying something, seeing as it’s just below freezing right now.

“Why are you so quiet?” Stephen asks, voice low. Tony turns his head to glance at the other man, who hasn’t once looked away from the flames since they sat down.

“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” Tony says, joking. “You bitch when I talk, and now you bitch when I’m quiet.”

“Well, it’s just that you never shut up,” Stephen continues. “So, when you’re quiet, I worry.”

“About little old me?” Tony asks with a grin.

“No,” Stephen says flatly. “About what you might be planning.” A pause. “Or what you might be thinking about.”

“And what do you think I’m thinking about?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it,” Stephen says quietly, almost to himself.

Tony can’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “You’re shitting me, right?” he says. “I should be the one saying that.”

Stephen finally turns to look at him, face questioning. “What do you mean?” The flames cast half his visage into shadows and his eyes are intent, unwavering.

Tony shakes his head and looks back at the fire. He’d kill for a whiskey right about now, what with the crap Stephen puts him through.

“Let’s see, when we first met you yelled at me, then you stalked me and said cryptic shit under your breath. What’s next… Oh right, then we were back to the yelling-”

“In my defense, you were very-”

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Tony snips, cutting him off. “Lips moving. _Still_ talking.”

Stephen rolls his eyes and Tony continues. “Like I was saying, we were back to the yelling. But then, magically, a few weeks go by and-” Tony shuts his mouth before he can finish that sentence because “and you show up at my place begging me for help” is not something Stephen needs to hear. Tony might not be the most… socially delicate man there is, but he’s not a dick.

Well. Alright. He’s not _always_ a dick.

“Aaaand now here we are,” he finishes stiffly.

Stephen doesn’t say anything for a moment, and one moment quickly turns into several. Tony is about to say something, anything, to try to recover from the awkward silence, but Stephen beats him to it.

“My brother is dying,” he says abruptly, as if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

He looks at Tony again and huffs a small laugh when he gets a good look at his face. “You already knew,” he says. It’s not an accusation. Just a statement.

Tony sighs. “Earlier… at the hospital. I ran into Christine.”

Stephen snorts and throws his head back against the chair. “Of course, of course she sought you out. She probably thought-” he doesn’t finish the thought though, just let’s the words hang in the air.

“Probably thought what?” Tony prompts.

Stephen shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Christine is nosey and thinks she knows best.” A pause. “She means well, but… She has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Hmm, sounds like my friend, Pepper,” Tony says with a small, barely-there smile.

At that, Stephen looks away again. “Yeah,” he says, voice a bit harsher, “something like that.”

Tony leans toward him and wonders if placing a hand over Stephen’s would be crossing a line. He thinks better of it for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and grabbing his hand with his own, squeezing it tightly.

“Look, I know we’re not…” Tony stumbles over his words, not quite certain what to say. He clears his throat and starts over. “Just because this… Just because we’re not…” he gestures his free hand in a vague, uncertain sort of way and dear god if Tony doesn’t get the rest of this sentence out, he’s going to die of embarrassment before the cold ever has a shot at him. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m here for you, Stephen. I… I-”

“I don’t need your pity,” Stephen suddenly says quietly, coldly, mistaking Tony’s uncertainty for discomfort and disinterest.

“No, it’s not pity. I-”

Stephen holds up a hand. “Look, I get it. This is more than you signed up for.” A long pause. Tony should probably say something, but for once, he has no idea what to say. What do you say to someone who keeps having to face tragedy after tragedy? What do you say to someone when you’re in love with them and their life is falling to pieces before your very eyes, but they don’t even see you as a friend?

“And to be completely honest,” Stephen continues, voice flat, “…To be completely honest, I’m getting bored with this, anyway.”

The words knock the air out of Tony’s lungs. But by the time he can think of something to say, Stephen is already gone.

-

Two days later, Tony receives a string of texts from Stephen:

 _8:47 am_ **We need to talk**

 _8:50 am_ **Call me when you see this.**

_2 missed called from Strange Doctor_

_11:45 am_ **Tony?**

 _1:32 pm_ **Please call me.**

_2 missed called from Strange Doctor_

_3:57 pm_ **I’m done with work at 7, let’s talk then.**

 _6:10 pm_ **Look, I get that you’re probably angry. I was a dick. But come on, pick up.**

_1 missed call from Stephen Strange_

_7:54 pm_ **Call me back.**

 _7:54 pm_ **Please**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't with these idiots anymore, I swear. Ugh.


	9. F is for Friends

**5 missed call from Stephen Strange**

_7:54 pm_ **Call me back.**

 _7:54 pm_ **Please**

Tony stuffs another corner of tissue up his nose to try and stop the incessant dripping; he’s going to punch something if he has to blow his nose one more time. When you need both hands for delicate work, having a cold seriously gets in the way.

His phone rings again and it’s just enough of a distraction to mess him up. Tony curses under his breath and sets down the soldering iron; the circuit board is ruined now. Dammit.

Stephen’s name flashes on the screen of his phone again. Tony scowls and stuffs it under his tablet. Which doesn’t do much considering they’re synced together; when the ringing ends, his tablet lights up. 

 **6 missed calls- Stephen Strange,**  it tells him, as if he doesn’t already know. Piece of shit technology.

If Strange thinks that Tony is going to speak to him after what he said, then he’s an idiot as well as an arrogant bastard. He knew not to expect anything from the man and he  _didn’t_ , he was honest to god okay with how things were, he didn’t want anything more, but he didn’t think Stephen would stoop that low.

(That’s only half true. He wanted- _wants_ more.)

But if Strange is so fucking  _bored_ , then he can bother someone else.

He doesn’t care what Stephen’s going through; Tony isn’t going to be his emotional punching bag. He might not have much by way of character, god knows Strange has made it a point to remind him of that in the past, but he’s still got his pride.

**7 missed calls- Stephen Strange**

Tony sneezes and groans, angry and sick and miserable. He has to walk away for a moment. He’s afraid he might throw his tablet across his shop if he doesn’t. Why can’t Stephen just leave him alone now? If he’s got more to say, Tony doesn’t want to hear it. ~~Doesn’t think he could survive it.~~ ~~~~

If this is one of those ‘life lessons’ Tony remembers hearing stories about back in his school days, lesson learned. Message received. Point _very_  much taken. He gets it; being treated like this… Like you don’t deserve simple, common decency, especially from someone you have such regard for-

He thinks about the early days with Pepper, how he could never seem to stop orbiting around her, but never really saw her as her own person. He remembers the mornings she would bring him coffee or breakfast and see that his latest conquest made it home safely sans the photos they would, at times, hope to blackmail him with. Pepper was… Pepper always felt like an extension of his own needs and desires. A useful tool he didn’t need to program. And she allowed it. For years, she allowed it.

Of course, he hadn’t  _meant_  to treat her that way. She was  _never_  just a tool, just an employee to him. She still isn’t. Never will be. Tony would, to this day, still do anything for her. He had just been… Tony sighs. There’s no excuse. No reason. He can play the fear of rejection card and cry about how shitty his dad was, but the truth is that at the end of the day, Tony is just an asshole who doesn’t know how to treat other people. And this is what it has gotten him.

**One new message.**

Not for the first time, Tony wonders how Pepper puts up with him. How Rhodey puts up with him. How Bruce and Peter put up with him. He’s never treated them the way they deserve. He’s never treated anyone with any semblance of respect. Not really.

Tony doesn’t deserve nice things. So, perhaps he’s earned this, the way Strange has managed to make him feel.

**8 missed calls- Stephen Strange**

“Fuck off,” he croaks.

 It’s just that, he didn’t know it could be like this… This real, this visceral. The gnawing feeling in his chest, the hollow cavern with half a working organ; it doesn’t feel like heartache.

 

It feels like vivisection. 

-

“Mr. Stark, I brought you some food!” Peter calls from the kitchen. Tony pokes his head around one of his computer monitors. He’s eyeballs deep in coding and hasn’t spoken to anyone in ages. He idly wonders how long it’s been since he left his suite.

“I haven’t seen you in the lab in three days,” Peter keeps talking as if he’s read Tony’s mind. He sets down a few bags of groceries on the counter and gets to work, putting things away. When did Peter become so acquainted with his kitchen?

Michelle walks up to him and sets down a bottle of water on his desk; her apparent contribution to the effort.

“Thanks,” Tony says, so stopped up it comes out as more of a “danks” thank anything else.

“Whatever,” she replies and heads outside to smoke.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tony asks Peter, approaching the counter and taking a seat at the bar.

Peter shakes his head. “No, she’s just having a bad day.”

“Oh, really?” Tony remarks, voice stale. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Peter just laughs and puts on the kettle to make Tony some tea. “She’s having issues at work- MJ’s a graphic designer, not sure if I told you that,” he says, locating the honey and slicing up a lemon. “She can be kinda moody, but getting her out of the apartment usually cheers her up.”

Tony doesn’t say anything _. Kind of_ moody? That’s putting it lightly, he thinks.

“MJ… she isn’t the best with people.” Another understatement and Tony questions just how thick Peter’s rose-tinted glasses are. “Actually, she kind of sucks with people,” Peter amends with a laugh. “But her heart’s in the right place, and she tries, and that’s what counts.”

He sets a cup of tea in front of Tony. “Kind of like you, Mr. Stark,” he says with a soft smile.

-

“I heard you ended things with Hot Doctor?”

“Ended what? ‘Ended things’ implies there was something in the first place.”

“Don’t be thick on purpose, Tony. It’s not cute.”

“Everything I do is cute.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Alright, alright. Yes. We’re no longer seeing each other.”

“What happened?”

“What happened? Nothing. We’re just… not seeing each other anymore. And who are you hearing this from anyway, you little gossip?”

“Natasha.”

“Nat? Bruce’s Nat? You know her?”

“From yoga.”

“Ah. …And you guys still talk?”

“You aren’t my only friend, Tony.”

“Right. Yes. I know that.”

“Yeah. So. What happened?”

“I just told you, Pep. Nothing happened. We moved on. People move on.”

“Natasha said he seemed pretty taken with you.”

“Well what the hell does Natasha know?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“…Fair enough. But that still doesn’t change anything.”

“You don’t think he likes you?”

“Likes me? Pepper, we’re not  _twelve_. It was a purely physical arrangement. And now it’s run its course. That’s what happens.”

“It’s just odd, is all.”

“…I’m going to regret this, but. Go on. Why is it ‘odd’.”

“I mean it’s just that- ah!- Just that he’s spent nearly every night at your place lately. Just seemed like- like more than a hook up.”

“Pepper, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just the baby moving. Quite changing the subject.”

“How _is_ Tony Jr. doing?”

“ _Tony_!”

“Fine, fine.”

“Well…?”

“Well what? He ended it, okay? Said he was bored or something. I don’t remember.”

“Oh, Tony…”

“Pep, it’s fine. Really. I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Preeetty sure. Feelings aren’t exactly my jam. I’m good.”

“It just seems… sort of sudden, is all. Do you think he’s going through something right now?”

“…Even if he is, that’s no excuse to be a dick.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Don’t you laugh at me, Ms. Potts.”

“Sorry, but I seem to recall a certain someone who shut me out _completely_ when he was going through a dark time.”

“That’s entirely different.”

 

 

“Is it really though, Tony?”

“Jesus, Pepper, you don’t even know the guy! Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course.”

“Then just _drop_ it, alright?”

-

Tony is back in Afghanistan. Pepper and Rhodey are with him, dirty and bloody and unconscious. He hears a gun go off and feels the familiar pain of a bullet hitting his chest and when he looks down, he expects to see blood, but there is none. He looks back up and Pepper and Rhodey have been hit.

“No, fuck, no _no_ ,” he screams and tries to run to them, but he can’t and it’s too late, anyway. They’re gone now.

He sits back down at his desk and looks up to see Stephen standing before him. Tony smiles and asks him to sit down, but Strange just frowns at him. Suddenly, there’s a bullet wound in his chest, too.

And then he’s gone as well.

Tony wakes up with a start, panting and shaking. It’s close to three in the morning, but sleep is out of the question after _that_ little nightmare. With a groan, he rubs his hands over his eyes and swings his legs out of bed.

He stands in front of the windows looking over the city below, shivering from the cooling sweat on his skin. He tries to calm his breathing before his mind can drift off to things he’d much rather not think about, like the fact that his subconscious is so theatrical its intersecting memories of being kidnapped and getting shot with memories of Stephen Strange.

Tony has always had a flair for the dramatics, but that’s a bit much. Even for him. He rolls his eyes at himself and decides he may as well get some work done since he’s up.

Keeping busy is much better than the alternative.

-

-

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week,” Stephen says quickly, trying to get Tony’s attention before he’s too far away and the distance distorts his words. “I shouldn’t have… Tony, please... Oh, come on, would you just listen?!”

Tony keeps walking, so Strange has to jog a bit to catch up to him. He grabs the sleeve of Tony’s coat, swinging him around. Tony rips his arm away and takes a few steps back. “What the  _fuck_  are you doing?” he demands, voice raised.

“I need to talk to you,” Stephen says, but it sounds more like a demand.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m a little busy right now,” Tony says, putting more distance between them.

“Oh, for god’s sake, will you just _wait_!” Stephen shouts, his voice echoing in the underground garage.

At that, Tony turns around, eyes wide and face frozen in rage. He storms up to the taller man until he’s nearly in his face. “Unless you want security _raining_ down on your ass in the next two seconds, I suggest you calm down,” he seethes, voice dangerously low. Who the hell does Strange think he is, causing a scene in his building?

A few moments pass and neither of them backs down. Finally, Stephen looks away. It’s hard to miss the worry etched into his brow or the shadows haunting his eyes, and in that moment, Tony loses most of his venom. How is he supposed to stay angry at Strange when he looks like a damn kicked puppy. _Ugh_.

Tony sighs and his shoulders slump. “…Fine. What do you want.”

Tony waves off his bodyguard and tells Stephen to pull up his car. When he sees that Strange is still driving the vehicle he had given to him, Tony’s not sure what to make of the emotions whirling through his mind.

They drive in silence for a while until, “What I said… I didn’t mean it,” Stephen says quietly.

Tony doesn’t reply, just waits for Stephen to continue. He tries to ignore the flicker of hope he feels at those words and keeps his arms firmly crossed over his chest as he pointedly looks anywhere but at Stephen.

They enter the Queens-Midtown tunnel and with the way Stephen drives, they’ve got about nine minutes left before they reach the airport. If the doctor has a point, he better fucking get to it quick because Tony’s not waiting around. He’s got to get to Malibu.

Just then, Tony’s phone rings; it’s Pepper.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? I’m on my way to the airport now,” Tony says in a rush.

Pepper tells him not to worry, it was just a false alarm and they’re still trying to work out how the reporters found out. Tony goes boneless for a moment at the words. He’s angry at the stress it’s caused everyone, especially Pepper, but he can’t help but laugh in relief.

“Good news?” Stephen asks when Tony hangs up, never looking away from the road.

“Yeah,” Tony says, voice still happy and relaxed.

“I’m glad,” Stephen replies softly. He even sounds like he means it.

“…Right,” Tony says flatly. “Look, let’s just cut the bullshit. What did you want to say?” Tony asks. “And take that exit. I should get back to the party I’m supposed to be hosting.”

Stephen clutches at the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I don’t-” Stephen clears his throat. “I don’t make friends easily,” he says. A pause. “Or at all, really.”

“Cool story,” Tony says, scrolling through his phone. Is he acting like a teenager right now? Yes. Does he care? Absolutely not.

“For fuck’s sake, would you grow up?” Stephen snaps. “I’m _trying_ to apologize.”

“Well, you suck at it,” Tony says with a sniff, opening a game on his phone.

Stephen grinds his jaw and doesn’t say anything more. He takes Tony back to the tower and leaves.

-

“Mr. Stark, Dr. Strange is here to see you,’ JARVIS announces. “Might I suggest granting him top floor access? He has been visiting quite often.”

Tony furrows his brows. “Hell no. Tell him to go away,” he says.

“Very well, sir.”

Silence, and then, “Sir, Dr. Strange refuses to leave until you speak with him.”

“Is this asshole for _real_?” Tony yells and throws his protective eye-ware down on his workbench.

“What part are you having trouble understanding, Strange? The _fuck_ , or the _off_?” he snaps over the intercom.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Stephen says firmly, if a bit stiffly. “Also… Also, I brought hot dogs.”

“Come again?”

“I said I brought hot dogs,” Stephen repeats flatly. It’s obvious he’s trying to not lose his cool and Tony can’t help but smirk.

“Are you trying to bribe me, Strange?” Tony asks. “With hot dogs?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

Tony’s stomach flips at his flirtatious tone and he scowls at himself for being so weak, but he can’t seem to stop himself from turning on the visual to check. Sure enough, Stephen is standing downstairs holding a bag of food.

A moment passes and with sigh, Tony lets him up.

-

He doesn’t invite Stephen to sit with him, just walks from his computer table to the kitchen island, hot dog in hand. “Mustard and sauerkraut,” he remarks with a nod of approval before taking a huge bite and staring at Stephen expectantly. “So,” he says once his mouth is mostly empty, “what do you want? I’ve got a 4 o’clock,” he lies easily, “so make it quick.”

Stephen rolls his eyes and leans against the counter opposite Tony, arms folded over his chest. “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he says with no preamble. His voice is low and gentle, and his gaze is just to the right of Tony’s face, unable to meet his eyes because he’s not used to being so open and vulnerable. “I was angry, but that’s no excuse.”

Stephen pauses and chances a glance at Tony and Tony wonders if he’s waiting for a response. He sighs. “…What were you angry about,” he asks flatly with no inflection. Tony wants to hear what Stephen has to say (the hot dogs _may_ have helped his cause a bit) but he’s _not_ about to make this easy on him.  

Stephen uncrosses his arms and taps a finger on the lip of the counter behind him, unable to stand still. Tony quirks a brow at the other man who finally seems to remember himself and freezes, mid-tap.

“It’s recently been brought to my attention that I… care about you,” Stephen suddenly says.

Tony isn’t sure what he was expecting Stephen to say, but that was definitely _not_ it. “And that makes you… angry?” he asks impassively, trying to keep his voice steady. He places a hand on his thigh, under the counter where Strange can’t see, clutching at his knee to stop it from shaking.

“No, you idiot,” Strange snaps. Tony tilts his head and raises a brow, silently daring Stephen to raise his voice again. Stephen narrows his eyes for a fraction of a moment, then clears his throat and continues, much more calmly, “I’m trying to tell you that I value-” He looks away, then squares his shoulders and looks back to Tony, who can practically _feel_ his inner turmoil.

“I value our friendship, Tony.”

Wait. Friendship?

“…Wait, friendship?”

Stephen purses his lips, looking more and more uncomfortable and extremely _done_ with this conversation by the second. “Yes,” he says quietly, tersely. “Is there an echo in here?”

Tony isn’t sure if he wants to cry because he’s so happy Stephen considers them friends, or if he wants to cry because, well, they’re _just_ friends. So, he doesn’t cry at all. Just stares at Stephen with his default ‘mysterious and slightly amused’ look on his face. He’s not 100% certain what’s going on, and he doesn’t want to say anything until he is.

“Look, we both know this isn’t going to go anywhere,” he continues. “And I’m not exactly… in a good place right now.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “So, I think it’s best if we discontinued seeing each other. Like this.” Another pause. “Because…” he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. “You and Christine are all I’ve got. And I don’t want to lose that, too.”

‘This could _totally_ go somewhere!’ is what Tony desperately wants to say, to _scream_ , but that would be… That would be the selfish thing to do. Stephen doesn’t need to deal with Tony and all his issues. All the shitty baggage that would come with dating someone as messed up and broken as him. Stephen has enough of his own crap to wade through without Tony making it worse. So, if this is what Stephen wants, if this is what Stephen _needs_ , then that’s what they’ll do.

“Oh, my god. You’re adorable,” Tony whispers, face breaking out in a grin.

“Excuse me?” Stephen says sharply.

“Look at you, gushing about our bromance,” he jokes. “Are you going to make me a friendship bracelet now?”

“I take it back,” Stephen deadpans, pushing away from the counter. “Forget I said anything.”

Tony laughs and waves for him to stay. “No, no. Calm down. I’m just messing with you,” he says. He’s smiling, but he’s pretty sure he might throw up.

“Listen, don't sweat it. No hard feelings. But, I should shower before my meeting, so…” Tony trails off.

Stephen nods. “Right. Yeah, of course,” he says. “I’ll see you soon, Tony?” 

“Yeah- yes,” he replies, trying to stay focused.

Stephen sees himself out; Tony makes it as far as the hall before leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony, I think you've been friendzoned, dude. Y'all, why am I so mean to him hahaha.


	10. Got me praying (man this hunger)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Rosie ;)
> 
> Chapter title taken from Foster the People's song "Sit Next to Me".

People always say that they’ll keep in touch, that they’ll still be friends. But that’s just what they tell each other, isn’t it? Because it’s not true; it’s just a polite, stupid _lie_ they tell one another so no one has to deal with anything messy, anything difficult, anything _real_.

Friends.

Yeah, okay.

It’s been over a week and Tony hasn’t heard from Stephen. Not that he’s made any effort to contact the doctor, either.

 

Guess that makes them both liars.

-

-

“Tony… When you said you needed my help with something, I didn’t know you meant… _this_.”

“What? Don’t look at me like that.”

“Then don’t ask me to get in- in a formula one car!”

“Bruce. _Bruce_. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Probably with Natasha.”

“Along with your balls, it would seem.”

“Come on, really? Grow up, Tony.”

“Get in the car.”

“No. _No_! Absolutely not.”

“You’re a terrible friend.”

“…”

“What was that, Banner?”

“…Nothing.”

-

Tony’s upstate, working on one of his larger projects in the warehouses and definitely not avoiding people, when his phone rings. He rolls out from under the prototype he’s working on to take the call.

“Hey, Tony,” Pepper says in her Most Concerned voice.

She enables a visual and Tony groans, pulling himself back under. “If Bruce told you to call me, I’m _fine_.”

“We must have different definitions of that word then, Tony, because the last time you pulled a stunt like that you were _not fine_.” A pause. Pepper takes a sharp breath. “Roll back out from under there and look at me!” she snaps.

He rolls his eyes but complies. “Your angry mommy voice is hot, Pepper,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, shut up. What’s going on?” she asks, worry in her blue eyes. “You’re not dying, are you? You better not be dying, I can’t go through that right now.”

Tony takes a moment and thinks about the sleepless nights, the depression and panic that seems to have come back in full force, the tremor he sometimes gets, when he remembers how much easier this could all be (remember how much _easier_ this used to be?) if he would just have a drink. Just _one_.

He clears his throat and levels her with a look of mock annoyance. “Of course I’m not dying, Pepper,” he says. ~~It only feels that way.~~ “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She purses her lips. “Well, did you have to drag poor Bruce into it?” she asks.

“What?” he says with feigned innocence. “It was a two-seater.”

“Is this about that doctor, Steve-something, Stephen? Is that why you’re acting like a crazy person?”

“Good bye, Pepper,” he sing-songs, disappearing again and ending the call.

-

Tony heads back to the city and locks himself in his workshop, telling everyone he’s not to be disturbed unless there’s a national emergency, on pain of death.  But on the third day he catches a good look at himself in the mirror while he’s washing his hands in the spartan bathroom. He needs a shower and a shave.

And maybe a smack across the face; what the hell is he _doing_?

If he could (sort of) keep it together when Pepper left, then he can sure as shit keep it together _now_. He’s known Pepper for just shy of two decades. He’s only known Strange for a few months. ~~Almost eight but who’s counting.~~ If he can get over her, he can get over anything.

Mind made up, he splashes water on his face, has JARVIS read him his schedule, and gets ready for the day.

-

-

 

(If only the nightmares would stop.)

 

-

-

Tony’s attending a benefit for veterans with a lovely date. Bruce had introduced him to a colleague of his, Miranda, a few days ago; she’s a bio-chemist and she smiles like she knows everyone’s secrets. Tony likes a little mystery, so he agreed to dinner.

It’s cute that Bruce is trying to help; he’s certain Bruce introduced them in order to help him “move on” (no doubt Natasha and Pepper were involved somehow as well) but he can still pull, _thank_ you very much, and he would have asked a woman like Miranda out, regardless, if she hadn’t beat him to it. She’s funny and quick-witted and he can tell from the curve of her hips that he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on that at _all_.

He’s certain it’s going to be a fun evening.

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want anything?” she asks him, placing a hand at the small of his back. Tony smiles and shakes his head no and he’s about to respond to her when he thinks he hears a familiar voice somewhere in the crowd.

Tony looks around, but Stephen is no where to be found. He laughs a bit and shakes his head. ‘ _You’re losing it, Stark_ ,’ he thinks to himself and asks Miranda to excuse him for a moment.

He and Strange haven’t spoken in weeks; not since they (read: _Stephen_ ) decided to stop sleeping together but _definitely_ “still be friends”.

Yeah, friends who don’t talk anymore.

He could have been okay with just being friends, but Stephen’s ghosted him and now Tony’s heartbreak is quickly turning to bitterness. He scowls and jams his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and stalks off in search of a rest room.

He finds one on the far end of the building, near a door leading out into an alley. It seems empty and secluded, so he steps outside to get some fresh air for a moment.

Only to immediately start coughing when he walks into a cloud of smoke.

“ _Christ_ , put that out,” he says, turning to see Christine.

“Oh… Mr. Stark,” she says, voice distant. She barely spares him a glance for more than a second before looking back off into nothingness. She’s wearing a black gown and vintage furs and her makeup is understated, save for her red lips. She leans against the wall, arms folded elegantly in front of her, but it’s obvious she’s just scrambled to put the smoke out.

Tony isn’t sure what to do. It would be odd to just leave now, so he leans against the wall next to her, crossing one ankle over the other. Maybe he’s not going crazy; if Christine’s here, he could have heard Stephen inside. He hopes not but, that’s better than losing it, right?

“Are you here with Strange?” He tries to keep his voice light and disinterested.

“No. He’s not speaking to me,” she says, voice morose. “ _Again.”_ That sentence sounds extremely loaded. And in the light of the streetlamps, Tony can see evidence of dried tears. he tries to quickly think of something else to say to steer the conversation away from _that_ particular jagged rock, but Christine ruins the attempt before it can begin.

“Stephen signed the DNR order,” she says quietly.

Tony’s blood runs cold and it suddenly feels like the ground has been yanked out from under him. “What?” he says, voice barely audible. Christine doesn’t respond, just reaches into her clutch and pulls out another cigarette. “Don’t tell on me,” she mumbles. “I’m trying to quit.”

Tony waves a hand; he’s no snitch. (Besides, he gets the feeling that Strange is probably part of why Christine smokes if Stephen tries her nerves as often as Tony tries Pepper’s.)

She blows out a puff of smoke. Tony watches it furl and disappear into the night sky.

“How… is he?” he asks.

She shrugs and puts this cigarette out as well, feeling too guilty to keep smoking. “He’s been throwing himself into his work even more these past few weeks,” she says. “I don’t even… He didn’t even tell me.” She pauses. Her eyes well up.  “I found out yesterday about the DNR.” Another pause. “I take it he’s shut you out, too.”

Tony’s gut twists in guilt and shame. He’s spent all this time feeling sorry for himself that he’s been blinded by his own petty, hurt feelings. Once again in typical Tony Stark fashion, he never stopped to look at this from Stephen’s point of view.

Christine pops a mint in her mouth and pulls out a compact, checking her makeup. “I should go back in,” she says, voice tight. “They’re probably wondering where I am.” She steps around him and opens the door but pauses before stepping through.

“Tony?” she calls, pulling him from his thoughts. “I know he’s difficult, but… don’t give up on him.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Tony alone with whirling thoughts and the smell of old cigarettes.

-

They have a nice evening, but Tony doesn’t invite Miranda back to his place, and she doesn’t offer to call. The next day, he tries to focus on work, but he keeps thinking about what Christine had said. Maybe he _should_ reach out to Strange?

In all honesty, he had been waiting for Stephen to make the first move. Tony was hurt and too prideful for his own good; he didn’t want to be the first to reach out. Tony could never show that much weakness.

But the days had ticked by and the simple waiting had taken on a tint of anxiety. What if Stephen never called? More days had passed, and Tony had become increasingly upset, anxiety turning to anger, anger turning to feigned disinterest. But not once did he ever stop to think that maybe it wasn’t even about him at all.

Stephen is lost in a thunderstorm, and Tony’s sitting here crying about a bit of rain.

He swiftly picks up his phone and before he can change his mind, calls Stephen. Tony tries not to smile when he answers after the first ring.

“Hello.” Stephen sounds… not good.

“Strange, hey, it’s me, Tony,” he says.

“I’m well aware of that,” Stephen replies, clearly not in the mood for jokes.

“Just making sure, haven’t heard from you in a while.” He’s trying to keep himself from sounding upset. It’s a failed attempt, and he can hear Stephen heave a small sigh on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to-” He pauses and starts over. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“You can talk to me, if you need,” Tony says before he can think better of it. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent sounding board.”

That, at least gets a laugh. “No one has ever said that to you, Tony. You couldn’t shut up long enough,” Stephen says, but his voice is fond.

“You know, friends are usually nice to each other,” Tony comments, idly walking around his workshop.

“Are they?” Stephen asks.

Tony gives a breathy laugh, then licks his lips, swallowing nervously. “So, I was wondering if you wanted to hangout?” he asks, then promptly wants to kick himself because could he sound any more like a teenager right now? God, he’s lucky his voice didn’t crack. Jesus.

“I would like that,” Stephen replies, sounding genuine. Warmth spreads through Tony’s chest.

-

It’s raining, so Stephen suggests an indoor driving range. Golf isn’t really Tony’s thing these days, but he’s decided to make an attempt at being less self-centered so he agrees, and they plan to meet just after lunch on Saturday.

Tony shows up wearing purple shades, a black hoodie, maroon-colored jeans, and old half cabs. Stephen is, naturally, wearing a fitted, dark grey polo, and khaki slacks which have no business looking good on anyone but look amazing on him. Tony desperately wants to crack a joke about doctors and golf, but he’s determined to be nice. Besides, Stephen’s ass in those pants… It’s really distracting.  

Stephen looks so… pristine. Tony just wants to mess him up a little.

“Tony?” Stephen asks, pulling him from his thoughts before they head south. Or rather, more south. Tony clears his throat and raises his brows. “Yes?”

Being ‘just friends’ is not going to be easy.

“What’s with the shades?” Stephen asks, squinting at him.

Tony looks toward him, wagging his eyebrows. “I’m famous,” he stage-whispers. “And the paparazzi love me.”

That’s true, but he’s honestly just glad for the solid excuse. He’s not sure if he can look Stephen in the eye yet without a droplet of pain landing in the center of his chest, spreading out, and consuming him.

Stephen rolls his eyes, selects a driver, and takes a swing. The ball hits the net way in the distance, and Stephen waits for the tee to load another ball. “You going to play or just stand there?” he asks, setting up to take another swing. Tony absently grabs one of his drivers and takes a swing as well. It barely makes it 100 yards. Tony clears his throat awkwardly, hoping Strange didn’t notice. But of course he did.

Strange smiles, a bit smug. “Golf not your game, Stark?” he asks lightly. Tony narrows his eyes, absentmindedly rolling his left shoulder. “It’s just been a while,” he says stiffly.

At that, Strange frowns and returns his driver to his leather golf bag. “You finished physical therapy,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question. Tony nods. “Yep, but if you’ll recall from my file, you apparent _stalker_ , a few weeks post op I pulled my leads out on accident. They had to fix the pacemaker again. I’ve just… been stiff on that side ever since.”

“What’s your range of motion like?” Stephen asks, forgetting about golf and stepping into doctor mode. Tony shrugs. “Pretty good, but as you can see, my follow through is shit.”

Stephen suddenly steps into his personal space and takes a moment to examine his chest and shoulder, pressing fingers into muscle and tendon. Tony feels his cheeks light up under the inspection and holds his breath.

“It could just be psychosomatic, but you should get that looked at just to be safe,” Stephen says after a moment, stepping away from Tony and clearing his throat.

“Thanks for the tip, doc,” Tony says playfully.

Stephen nods once but doesn’t look at him, and Tony wonders just how in the hell he’s going to survive this.

-

He’s absolutely certain that after the awkwardness at the driving range, Stephen will probably never call him again. But two days later, he is pleasantly surprised.

“Want to grab a coffee?” Strange asks. He almost sounds… happy.

Tony wants to say, ‘who the hell are you and what have you done with Stephen’, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Okay, that’s not true at all, but if Stephen wants to see him, he’s not going to question it.

-

“I’m not saying I _agree_ , just that I get it,” Tony says.

Stephen shakes his head. “Then you’re an idiot,” he replies flatly, taking a sip of his tea. Tony just laughs.

They’re at a late night café. It only took them ten minutes to find something to disagree on, but Tony can’t remember the last time he’s enjoyed talking to someone like this.

“You didn’t strike me as the humanitarian type, Strange,” Tony says.

Stephen raises a brow. “What makes you say that?” he asks, the slightest hint of an edge to his voice.

Sometimes talking to Stephen can feel like dealing with a feral cat; he’s so quick to go from aloof and superior to spitting and hissing with the blink of an eye. Tony has started to pick up on a pattern- Stephen’s moods are worse when he’s just visited the hospital during non-working hours. Not that Tony had used the information Stephen’s Stark car was sending his lab to track his location. Or ~~hacked into Stephen’s server~~ checked Stephen’s schedule to even know when he _was_ visiting the hospital during non-working hours in the first place.

 _Anyway_.

“Nothing, I just didn’t think it was something you’d given much thought,” he says, trying to tread lightly. Who knew there’d ever be a day when he was the one trying to de-escalate a situation instead of pouring more gasoline on it and lighting the match himself.

“It’s all over the news, hard not to notice it,” Stephen snorts. “And it’s disgusting.”

“Jesus. Again, I never said I agreed with it. I was just saying, I understand the tactic.” He can’t believe he’s sitting here having to explain his moral values to someone who only takes on cases he finds worth his time.

Stephen might not be as damaged as Tony, but he’s no saint.

-

They meet for a late lunch a few days later. Stephen had a successful surgery that morning and gives Tony the play by play, speaking more animatedly than usual. Tony enjoys learning something new and asks over a million questions about the procedure, and Stephen enjoys explaining his patented technique to someone smart enough to keep up.  

It suddenly hits Tony that, now that they aren’t sleeping together anymore, they’re more intimate than they’ve ever been. Tony gets a rush of happiness every time Stephen opens up to him, even if it’s only a little bit. Even if it’s only telling him about his day. It’s more conversation than they had before and now that he’s got it, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But then he remembers that if things were different- maybe if _he_ was different- maybe they could have had both.

 

Tony leaves early that afternoon, feigning an emergency in R and D.

-

“You’re… giving me this?” Stephen asks, brows furrowed. He looks down at the record in his hand. It’s a copy of Pink Floyd's 1969 album  _Ummagumma_.

Tony grins and nods. “I noticed your collection. You don’t already have this one, do you?” he asks. Of course, Tony knows Stephen doesn’t have it. Hardly anyone else has it, and Tony had won it for nearly fourteen thousand dollars in an auction online.

Stephen laughs and shakes his head. “So, you’re IronMan69,” he says. “You outbid me, you ass.” A pause. “Nice screen name, by the way.”

-

“So, want to go to Nepal with me next month?” Tony asks, heading back up the stairs to the seating area, Kombucha tea in hand. For the most part Tony still hates healthy food, but sometimes he finds something worth keeping around.

He places a can by Strange and drapes himself over the armchair across from him, leaning back and crossing his ankles.

Stephen looks up from his tablet, glaring. “I agreed to stay if you’d let me work in peace,” he says. “I’ve got a surgery next week I’m preparing for.” A pause. “And why are you asking me to go to Nepal with you?”

Tony rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink. “Calm down, Stephen. It’s about our collab. Bruce is coming, too. And about five other engineers,” he says, voice dry.

“Oh,” Stephen says, looking away. Tony pretends he hears a hint of disappointment in his voice.

-

“ _Damn_ ,” Tony says to himself, looking Natasha up and down. She’s wearing a red gown, but it seems more like a second skin. His eyes trail down her neck to her-

“Eyes up here, Stark,” she says. “Give me your arm before you get yourself in trouble.” Her words sound nice enough, and yet somehow seem to promise eminent pain. She’s set his alarms off more than once and Tony has done several background checks on her. But nothing ever comes up.

Tony straightens his red bow-tie and runs his hands down the front of his slim fitting black tux. “Where’s your mask, Nat?” he asks, grinning as he pulls his venetian mask over his eyes. It’s (obviously real) gold with small red detailing.

She holds hers up to her face. It’s made of simple black lace, but it looks more like a spider web. She smiles, lips blood red.

“Where’s you date?” she intones.

“Flying solo this evening,” he replies lightly. “You?”

“Bruce had to work,” she says with a shrug. “I want to dance,” she announces, pulling him toward the dance floor.

Tony is a proficient, even a good dancer, but Natasha is nothing if not masterful. They twirl around the room, and Tony thinks he sees a familiar figure. The height and build is right. He cranes his neck to get a better look.

“Yes, Strange is here,” Natasha says.

Tony narrows his eyes, lips twitching, but there’s no point in refuting her after such an obvious display. They dance to one more song before Natasha excuses herself, promising to catch up with him later on in the evening.

“Nice mask,” a voice says behind him.

Tony whirls around to see Stephen. He smiles. “I thought I saw you earlier.”

Stephen’s wearing an all-black tux, including the shirt. It fits him well, nearly clinging to his broad shoulders and long legs. He’s forgone a mask, even though they’re at a masquerade charity gala.

“Not a fan of Valentine’s Day?” Tony asks lightly, eyeballing the taller man’s outfit and distinct lack of color.

“Red’s not my color,” Stephen says. He’s smiling a bit, hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his pants, appearing relaxed. But Tony can see the tension in his shoulders and the quiet sadness in his eyes.

“Where’s your date?” Tony asks suddenly, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. He doesn’t want to know who Stephen is here with, or worse, get introduced to them as, ‘Tony Stark, my _friend’_.

He wonders if it’s a woman, soft and petite but fiery and assertive like Christine. Or if it’s-  

“I came alone,” Stephen says, looking directly into Tony’s eyes as if to make a point. Tony squints at him but the movement isn’t very noticeable under the mask. Sometimes Tony doesn’t know if Stephen is sending mixed signals, or if Tony’s just reading into things too much.

“And you?” Strange asks flatly.

Tony’s definitely just reading into things too much.

“Ah… Same.” There’s a break in the conversation that threatens to become uncomfortable if one of them doesn’t say something soon.

“How’d the laminectomy go?” Tony asks. A server with short brown hair, dressed to resemble Cupid, (complete with bow and arrow) approaches them with a tray of drinks. Stephen shoos him away before he can offer anything. “Obviously as to be expected,” he answers smugly, a self-congratulatory smile on his face. “Which is to say, perfectly.”

Most people find Stephen’s narcissism off-putting. Not Tony. He knows what it’s like to be smarter than everyone around you. What it’s like to be years ahead of your peers and decades ahead of your time. He knows what it’s like to feel that separateness, the lack of connection that comes with it. Being a genius isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Maybe it’s just an excuse he allows himself to believe to make up for the poor behavior, but he knows the majority of people he’ll meet will only like him for what he can do for them. Outside of that, they will be jealous of his intellect, or good fortune, or connections, or any combination of the above. Knowing that, owning his own self-worth, at least in his ability as a creator, seems only fair. He wonders if it feels the same for Stephen.

The neurosurgeon refuses to shy away from his importance, from his value. And Tony loves him all the more for it, wishes he could somehow transmute that surety into every other aspect of the doctor’s life and shield him from any further anxiety or sorrow.

Tony smirks. “Obviously,” he parrots, smile only getting wider. “Listen, why don’t you eat with me and Nat,” he offers.

“The tables are assigned, Tony,” Stephen reminds him.

Tony shrugs. “Eh, who cares. These parties are shit since I quit drinking,” he complains, scoffing. “The least they can offer is some decent company.”

“Just decent?” Stephen asks, voice unassuming.

Tony’s left in confusion again. “Fishing for complements is super unattractive, Stephen,” he says with a chuckle, covering.

 

When the evening comes to an end, Tony waits with Natasha until the valet gets back with her car. They say their goodbyes, and just as Tony’s about to ask for his own vehicle, someone approaches him. It’s Stephen.

“I’m taking a research sabbatical soon,” he says. “I might be able to come to Nepal.”

Tony smiles. “That’s great!” he practically crows. His cheeks color a bit at the accidental enthusiasm and he clears his throat. “Peter, uh, Peter will be glad to hear that.”

Stephen looks like he wants to say something else, but the valet is already handing Tony his keys and the evening has been weird enough as it is, so he says a quick goodbye and heads home.

\-   

Tony’s half asleep when he feels a slight dip in the side of his bed.

He’s about to sit up and krav maga a mother fucker when the intruder speaks. “I asked JARVIS if I could come up,” a velvet deep voice nearly whispers. It’s Stephen. Tony’s heart is suddenly in his throat and he freezes for a moment, not sure what to do. Stephen has been so hot and cold tonight; he’s just going to wait and see what happens. Hopefully before he dies from the suspense.

Stephen takes a deep breath. “You… You gave me top floor access,” he continues, voice nearly cracking.

Tony swallows and closes his eyes. He’d given Stephen access to his pent house after he spoke to Christine. After she told him about the DNR. He didn’t think Stephen would ever use it but… he didn’t want Stephen to be unable to reach him if he ever needed to talk. If he ever needed anything.

Tony rolls over; he can’t quite see Stephen’s features by the light of the moon, but his eyes, dark as ink in the moonlight, are staring at him intently. Tony licks his lips and swallows, trying to steady his breathing.

“You’re only allowed up if you bring food with you,” he says.

“JARVIS failed to mention that.” Stephen laughs softly. “Guess you’re out of luck.”

“I feel cheated,” Tony replies and makes a show of rolling back over.

A moment passes. Tony feels the bed shift again and suddenly there’s a sold warmth pressing against his back and an arm circling around his waist.  “Thank you,” Stephen says quietly. He holds Tony closer, pressing kisses into his hair, onto the back of his neck.

“I thought-” Tony swallows a gasp, “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore.” But he’s already rolling back over, grabbing at Stephen hungrily and pulling him into a kiss.

 

-

-

 

At 3:07 AM, Victor Strange goes into cardiac arrest and passes away.

At 8:23 AM, Stephen is in a terrible accident just outside Peekskill. The details aren’t clear yet as information is still being released, but apparently, he had crashed through the guard rail and driven off a steep cliff, landing on a building by the train tracks.

But Tony is asleep when it’s reported, when he receives texts and phone calls and emails. It’s been so long since his last good night’s rest that in all likeness he’s probably passed out and won’t be up for hours to come.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

Or, at least, he wouldn’t be up, if someone hadn’t broken into his private quarters.

Tony is wide awake in a flash and moves to kick the intruder and grab his arms to immobilize him, but he’s not fast enough. In the blink of an eye, Tony’s face down on the bed, his arms secured tightly behind him, a knee digging into his spine.

“Barton, that won’t be necessary,” a soft and unassuming voice calls from across the room.

Barton lets him up, and Tony quickly stands up to assess the room.

“I’m Agent Coulson. This is Agent Barton.  We’d like to have a word with you.”

Tony glares from one man to the other, his gaze finally settling on the younger of the two. “You… I recognize you.” He thinks back to the gala. “Cupid,” he says, squinting his eyes. Agent Barton neither confirms nor denies. Tony rolls his eyes. “So, Mr. Rogers,” Tony says, turning to Agent Coulson, who doesn’t react to his barb in the slightest. “Fury didn’t feel like coming this time?”

“Director Fury is a busy man,” Coulson says.

“And so am I,” Tony says, shooing Barton away from his bedside. Barton looks to Coulson, who nods, before he steps away. Tony clips his shoulder as he walks by, heading for his walk-in closet to get dressed.

“You don’t know yet, do you?” Coulson calls after him. His voice is as bland as his appearance, but Tony knows these types. Nothing is just random, idle small talk with these guys. Everything is a calculated move. But unfortunately for them, Tony is good at this game.

“No idea,” he calls, voice bored. “But whatever it is, I doubt I need you to handle it.”

“That’s true,” Coulson agrees, then says no more.

Tony taps his finger against the wall, agitated with himself. Curiosity is starting to win out over pride, but he shakes those thoughts from his head before he falls prey to them and walks back out of the closet dressed in a sharp dark blue suit, black tie, and rose gold shades.  

“Did you guys not get the memo?” he asks. “I don’t take commissions for the government anymore. I’m one of the good guys now.”

Agent Coulson puts up a hand, smiling faintly. Tony’s nostrils flare and an eye twitches. This guy is unnerving.

“I understand your hesitation, but we’re not here for weapons, Mr. Stark,” he says.

Tony takes off his glasses, brow raised. “Then why the fuck did you break into my pent house?”

“We’d like to commission you to create protective body armor,” Coulson replies. “And armored vehicles. Nothing more.”

Tony still doesn’t buy it, still thinks there’s a catch. “Why?” he asks.

“Check your phone, Mr. Stark,” Agent Coulson urges quietly, softly. So, he does.

 

Tony’s stomach turns to stone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noooooo *deadpool gasp*
> 
> NB: This is still a non-powered AU; Fury et al. work for one of the Alphabet soup agencies and want to hire Tony as a private contractor again because of his armored cars, etc.


	11. One step forward, two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no questions have been answered in this chapter, sorry/not sorry?

The sheer amount of notifications Tony has on his phone are enough to put him on high alert, his stomach twisting, heart clenching. He taps on the first one; it’s a link to an article. He skims it, and the first words he notices are, “renowned neurosurgeon” then, “near-fatal accident”, and finally, “rushed to hospital” before his knees give a bit.

Agent Barton is beside him in a beat, propping him up with a hand on his back and another at his elbow. That’s enough to snap Tony out of it for a moment; he glares at Barton and shrugs him off almost violently, walking away from the two men as best he can when his legs feel like led and his hands shake with adrenaline.

“Dr. Strange survived a 450 foot drop,” Coulson says after a while. “In a sports car.”

“Yes, I can _read_!” Tony snaps, trying to keep the worst of the panic at bay. “What’s his _condition_?”

He opens his messages and reads the ones from Christine. The last one says:

**I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Tony. He’s going to be fine thanks to you.**

A pause, and then another message comes through.

**A split lip, broken leg, and fractured wrist. That’s it. I still can’t believe it.**

Tony collapses into a chair. He holds his head in his hands for a bit before running his fingers through his hair, chuckling tightly, voice high. “ _Fuck_ ,” he half laughs, half sobs. “Fucking _hell_ , he’s gonna be the death of me.”

“Your work is, as you can clearly see, an asset to us all,” Coulson intones, speaking once more. “It would be a great service to your country if you would consider working with us again.”

Tony snaps his head back up to glare at the two of them. Coulson stands casually, unassuming. Barton stands behind his superior, observing Tony intently. “Not gonna happen,” he says flatly, standing up and heading for the door. He holds it open and makes a performance out of showing them out.

Coulson nods his head and drops a file to his night stand.

“Paper, _wow_ ,” Tony mocks. “Workin like its 1999, huh.”

Coulson just gives a small smile. “In case you change your mind,” he says, stepping out into the hall. Barton follows after. Tony has the strongest urge to tape a “kick me” sign to his back.

“Next time try calling!” he shouts as they step into the elevator.

“If only you’d answer,” Coulson replies lightly. The elevator door closes, but not before Tony notices the smirk on Barton’s stupid, smug face.

-

They won’t let him see Stephen yet; only two at a time are allowed in the ICU and apparently not even _the_ Tony Stark can break that rule. So, he has been reduced to pacing the halls, the lobby, the entrance, down to the café on the street and then back again to ask the nurses in Stephen’s wing if he can visit yet, even though they’ve promised to call him personally, A-S-A-P. But just like the last five times he’s asked, “No, Mr. Stark. I’m really sorry but… He still has visitors.”

He sighs, mutters an unenthusiastic _thank you_ and turns back around to begin the sixth lap of his anxiety-fueled walk-a-thon when he notices someone is sitting in the small waiting room now. Tony always likes to talk, but he _really_ likes to talk when he feels this manic. (And after the sort of emotional roll coaster ride he’s been on _so_ far, he’s plenty manic.)

Tony heads back into the waiting room and sits directly across from his soon-to-be ~~victim~~ ~~captive audience~~ — _Oh_.

Tony gets a good look at the man and holy _shit_ he is a ridiculously hot human being. He looks like the child of Rosie the Riveter and an Abercrombie and Fitch model, with his military cut blond hair and his plush, pink lips, and his strong jaw and his… muscles. (Oh, _Jesus_ , his muscles.)

He looks like he’s been crying, which sobers Tony right up. His mind instantly circles back to Stephen and Tony looks away for a minute, embarrassed with himself for almost having selfishly talked this guy’s ear off without knowing _his_ story. For all Tony knows, he could be dealing with something much, much worse than he is. They are sitting in the ICU waiting room, after all. The only reason Stephen is here is because they were being cautious; now they’re just waiting to move him to a regular in-patient room.

Tony keeps his mouth shut, attempting to be respectful, but the silent, still room is stifling. He’s about to get up and walk around some more when the man says, “Hi, I’m Steve,” and leans forward, extending his right hand in greeting.

Tony’s a little taken aback by that, but in a good way. He’s… charmed, honestly. “Tony,” he says, smiling a bit at the younger man as he shakes his hand.

Tony’s smile is like a catalyst and Steve returns it ten-fold. Tony swears the room instantly gets sunnier and he wonders what sort of optimistic hippie this Steve guy must be to brighten up so much at a barely-there smile. He’s judging him so, so hard, but at least Tony’s self-aware enough to know that there’s a certain amount of jealousy to it, as well.

“So, what brings you here?” Steve asks, and it sounds like the cross between a dad joke and a pick up line and _again_ , Tony finds himself charmed. He laughs a little and shakes his head.

Tony isn’t good with emotions. Or rather, Tony isn’t good at conveying them in healthy ways. Or in ways that make sense, for that matter. He often gets his wires crossed; when he’s sad, he cracks jokes. When he’s lonely or hurt, he’s mean. It’s exhausting.

Right now, Tony feels raw. Torn open. He’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do if he doesn’t get to check, with his own _god damn_ eyes, to see that Stephen is alright in the next few moments.

“Oh, you know,” he says nonchalantly, “just visiting a friend who took a little tumble.”

Steve furrows his brows. Tony can’t tell if it’s in genuine confusion or if he’s doing it because he just doesn’t understand why Tony is being purposely obtuse.

But Tony isn’t about to say, “the love of my life could have died this morning” so he just smiles and deflects. “What about you?”

“My best friend is sick,” Steve replies and his tone is sad but resigned. Tony doesn’t press; it’s obvious that whatever is going on, it’s not good.

For some reason, he’s suddenly able to shelve his own suffering for a moment. It’s still there, throbbing with pain and worry, but its no-longer at the forefront of his mind. He knows Stephen is going to be alright, and anyway, he’s got loved ones with him right now. Tony gets the feeling that for Steve, this best friend of his might be all he’s got. And Tony’s a sucker for a pretty face and a sob story.

“You want to get a coffee, kid?” he asks. “There’s a Starbucks around here somewhere.”

Steve gives him that 1000 watt smile again. “Sounds good.”

They find the coffee shop and sit in the back corner with their drinks. Steve fiddles with the cardboard sleeve on his cup and Tony watches for a moment. Then he suddenly squints at him, puts his coffee down, and cocks his head to the side. “Hey… You aren’t…?” He swears Steve looks just like the actor who played the comic book character in all those commercials a year or so ago.

Steve looks up, then glances back down. A small blush dusts his cheeks. “Yes, yeah. I’m Captain America from the PSAs.”

Tony slaps his knee. “I knew it!” he says, laughing. “ _So, you think you’ve got chlamydia_ ,” he says, dropping his voice to try and match Steve’s timber.

Steve laughs, embarrassed, and blushes harder. “That’s not the line!”

Suddenly, Tony’s phone goes off; it’s about Stephen. He stands up quickly and shoots Steve an apologetic smile. “It was nice chatting with you, Captain,” Tony salutes him and gives him his number. “Hit me up if you’re ever in the city.”

“I’ll- I’ll do that!” Steve calls after him. “It was nice talking to you too, Tony!”

Tony shakes his head and smiles.

-

Stephen’s been moved to one of the private suites. When Tony enters his room, his face is turned away from the door. He doesn’t bother to greet Tony when he enters his room, just continues to stare out the window.

“Hey, Strange Doctor,” Tony calls quietly.

Stephen says nothing.

“How do you feel?” Tony tries again.

“Like I’ve just driven off a cliff,” Stephen finally responds, voice bitter. “What do you want?”

Tony balks at the words. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe just to _check_ on you, you absolute _jackass_.” Belatedly, he remembers that Stephen has also just lost his brother, so maybe he should tone it down with the yelling and the name-calling. He can’t really hold it against Stephen for getting angry when his life is being a real toilet bowl right now.

Stephen sighs and finally turns to look at Tony and when their eyes meet, Tony’s heart surges with a million unspoken words. He quickly takes a few more steps to stand by his bedside. “I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers. “I’m… I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Stephen closes his eyes and tries to shift, but he must be sore. He winces and groans a bit and then gives up. Now that Tony’s gotten a good look at him, Stephen looks a lot worse than Christine had led him to believe. His entire face is swollen from the trauma, his hand and forearm have been immobilized, and his right leg is in a cast from his hip on down to his heel.

“I need a doctor who knows what they’re doing,” Stephen says, voice rough. “They’re going to ruin me here.” His gaze, surprisingly sharp for how medicated he must be, cuts to Tony. “Get me back to New York. Corfield sucks but at least he _listens_.” He lifts his arm and rattles it a bit. “I’ve got to get out of this or I’ll _never_ operate again. Christine wouldn’t listen to me.” He sneers. “She’s an idiot. They’re all _idiots_. Don’t you understand I’m going to lose _everything_ if I don’t get out of here?!” Stephen’s shouting at this point, wild-eyed and disheveled. Tony is once more reminded of a feral cat, injured and backed into a corner.

He bites the inside of his cheeks, trying to stay calm when all he wants to do is pull Stephen into a hug.  “I know,” he says after a moment, when he’s able to talk again. “I’ll get you home, okay?” he says. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”

-

“They’re discharging him tomorrow; he’s going to be fine.”

“He seems to think he’s not going to be able to operate again.”

“Stephen is a drama queen, Tony. His wrist might not ever be the same but with physical therapy he’ll be back in the operating theatre in a matter of months.”

“So, he _is_ going to lose dexterity.”

“…Yes, but it’s such a negligible-”

“He was right. You guys are going to ruin him.”

“Tony, listen to me-”

“No, Christine, _you_ listen to me. I’m not going to let you squander his talent just because some second rate hack thinks that a _negligible_ amount of mobility loss is acceptable!”

“They did the best they could.”

“Well, I can do better. _Stephen_ can do better.”

-

The funeral for Victor Strange is held the day after Stephen is released from the hospital. Tony attends, sitting by himself in the back. He tries to catch Stephen’s eye but every time he does, Stephen just looks away.

For the millionth time, Tony reminds himself that Stephen is going through so much right now, both physically and emotionally, and he can’t, he _mustn’t_ take this behavior to heart. Still, the silent drive home, the absence of phone calls, and the empty bed waiting at home are starting to weigh on him.

At least he has his work- and a lot of it. Stephen might not want to talk to him right now, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he comes around. Tony sets to work on a light-weight, easily sterilized wrist stabilizer, and when he’s happy with the design, he starts toying around with a similar concept for a leg brace, and possibly a back brace, as well. Surgery requires hours on your feet at times. That’s going to be more demanding than the procedure itself- and most likely the very thing keeping him from the operating theatre the longest. The support will help cut that time down considerably, without hindering proper muscle usage and development.

“Natasha Matthers wishes to speak with you,” JARVIS announces, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

He takes off his glasses and pulls up a visual at his desk. “What’s up, Nat?” he asks. She never comes over without Bruce. And isn’t Bruce out of the country again?

“I need to talk to you,” she says. Like usual, her face and voice are unreadable.

“Well, come on up then,” he buzzes her in and a moment later the elevator dings. She’s wearing a heavy coat and running shoes, her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, and for once, her face isn’t done.

“What’s up?” he asks. “Take a seat.” He gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk.

She steps closer but doesn’t sit down.

Tony raises his brows and stares at her. “Can I help you…?”

“I’m not going to apologize for doing my job,” she says resolutely.

Tony just blinks.

“But I have to go now, and I can’t…” she purses her lips for a minute. “Look, I don’t expect any favors from you, Stark, but… Bruce is still in India and I’ve… got to go now,” she finishes lamely, fiddling with the strap of her yoga bag.

Tony narrows his eyes, giving her bag a second look. It seems much heavier than a yoga mat would be. He narrows his eyes, suddenly putting two and two together. Her friendship with Pepper. Her interest in Bruce when they began working together. The lack of information in her file. This sudden, odd, departure.  

Fucking Fury.

“You were spying on me,” he says. It’s not an accusation, just a statement. He sits back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest.

“I was doing my job,” she says again.

“Was it worth it?” he asks with a sneer. “Fucking with Bruce just so you could keep tabs on me? I said no to Fury _again_ , by the way.” A pause. “Did they really think I’d change my mind after I had my own _gun_ pointed at me? I don’t care how much time has passed since Afghanistan. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Not even if it could help people?” she counters. “People like Colonel Rhodes? People like that man you met in the waiting room?” she snaps her mouth shut and looks toward the ground.

She just _had_ to go and get personal, didn’t she?

“Help? How would it _help_?” he demands, furious now. “You’ll just turn around and sell it to the highest bidder and then where will that leave us all, huh?” He stands up, slamming his hands on his desk. “Tell me, Natasha. Have you thought this through? Have you _really_? Why don’t you try using your brain for one _fucking_ minute. The wrong asshole gets his grubby mitts on my work and we’re all _shit out of luck_ ,” he seethes, punctuating each word. “They’ll be next to impossible to stop. And you know what happens _then_? People like Hammer swoop in and invent even DEADLIER weapons.” He claps and gives a wide smile; every bit the parody of happiness. “And the cycle begins anew!”

Tony takes a deep breath trying to settle himself. “Is that what you’re hoping for?” he asks quietly. “Oh, who am I kidding. You’ve probably already got Hammer on your payroll. Always five steps ahead, _aren’t_ you.”

“Things are different now,” Natasha says firmly. Her stance is confident, but there’s a stiffness about her that usually isn’t there. She’s uncomfortable. Or overwhelmed.

“Look, can you please just give this to Bruce?” she asks, looking to the left of his face, avoiding eye contact. I was supposed to be out 40 minutes ago and when I miss my check-in, I’m dead. So, will you please give him this?”

She places a file on his desk.

“What is it with you people and paper,” he wonders aloud.

“How else do you think we keep secrets from you?” She asks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why should I do you any favors?” he asks, too angry to appreciate the compliment.

“It’s not a favor. I’ve got information for you,” she says simply. “And I’m willing to give it to you if you’ll help me.”

Tony shakes his head. “No deal.”

“I know who shot you,” Natasha says. “We caught him a few months ago.”

Tony hadn’t been expecting that and he freezes for a moment. They know who shot him last year? And they caught him? Tony had been led to believe that the trail had gone cold and they’d never found the man. All this time spent wondering if he’d ever get closure, and the case had been solved ages ago. He won’t even bother asking why they’d never bothered to inform him; he knows why. They were planning on using this as a bargaining chip.

He snorts. “Not interested.”

“Mark Glantz,” Natasha says anyway. “His name is Mark Glantz. And if telling you that didn’t work, they _were_ going to offer to let you speak to him.” A pause. “Unfortunately, he’s dead. Killed himself in his cell last week.”

 _‘How convenient for them_ ,’ he thinks.

Tony is silent for a while, digesting all this. He hadn’t even been planning on ever speaking to Coulson again, but he might now, if only to see that unshakable disposition of his get ruffled a bit when he realizes he’s got no ace up his sleeve. But… he can’t believe that Natasha was willing to jeopardize her career, her mission like this…

Tony suddenly sees her in a slightly different light.

“You’re in love with Bruce,” he says.

Natasha meets his gaze a moment longer, then turns and leaves, as silent as a shadow. Tony stares at the elevator long after she’s gone, until an alert on his phone gets his attention. It’s a text message.

 **Hi Tony,** it reads (how precious) like a letter.

**It’s Steve. I’m going to be back in NYC next Tuesday, was wondering if you wanted to get lunch or something?**

**Just let me know  
Steve     **

The kid can’t be older than thirty, but he writes text messages like a grandpa. Tony finds himself smiling, charmed once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, don't hate me.


	12. i love you i'm sorry please forgive me thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is the ho'oponopono mantra, a Hawaiian prayer.

“Hey, it’s me. Again,” Tony says to Stephen’s answering machine. It’s been over two weeks since the accident and Tony’s only seen Stephen once- at Victor’s funeral. He’s been understanding, giving the other man room to think and time sort himself out, but how long is Strange going to ignore him? And better yet, how long is Tony going to keep putting up with it?

Because he’s starting to think he imagined the night Stephen let himself in. Tony is the only one who seems affected by it, anyway; Strange seems perfectly content to not speak to him for days. Weeks, even. At his lowest, Tony sometimes wonders what life would have been like if they never met. Because at least then he wouldn’t feel this horrible. This empty inside.

…But then Tony will remember that Stephen had closed up like this after signing the DNR; he’s the type to withdraw when he’s hurting. He’s not trying to be an asshole (at least no more so than usual) he’s just… lost right now. Lost deep within himself. And he needs support to bring him back from whatever dark place he’s in right now.

Pepper had done that for him, twice. Tony can manage it just this once. No matter how much this is affecting him; he won’t abandon Stephen.

_“You and Christine are all I’ve got. And I don’t want to lose that, too.”_

“I won’t say I miss you, because that’s just disgusting, but I _am_ starting to wonder if you’ve expired and now your cat’s eating your face.” A pause. “You don’t have a cat.” Another pause. “Your neighbor’s cat, then. Just- call me back.”

“Hey, Tony!” Steve calls from across the park, waving a bit.

Tony pockets his phone and looks up from his seat on the bench, smiling. “Hey yourself. What are you feeding me today?”

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes. “I figured we could get a burger or something?”

“Oh, thank god,” Tony says. At least this one isn’t into health food. He had been a bit worried at first, what with how, ahem, well maintained Steve appears to be.

They end up getting Cambodian food instead, because they walk by a place and Tony mentions it’s great and Steve says he’s never tried it before and Tony just _has_ to correct that. Steve says it’s the best pork belly sandwich he’s ever had and mentions that they’ll have to come back. Tony preens a little.

“Was that Dr. Strange?” Steve asks. “I saw you on the phone.”

This is the third time they’ve hung out, and Tony’s opinion hasn’t changed since the first time they met. Steve is such a kind, genuine person. And Natasha had been right (of course), Steve _is_ military- two tours in Iraq with his friend, Bucky. The one who’s sick. Tony knows there’s a story there, a heavy burden, but Steve hasn’t offered to share it, and Tony hasn’t felt right asking yet.

But despite having so much on his shoulders, Steve still makes it a point to check in with him, something that Tony finds both endearing and ridiculous. There’s no way he’d be able to be this kind to a stranger if he were in Steve’s shoes. But that’s just another thing that Tony likes about him. Tony’s never been a selfless guy. But with Steve, he can see the appeal.

“Voicemail,” he replies with a shrug and a rueful smile.  

“He’ll call you back, Tony,” Steve says like he knows it to be true. “You saved his _life_.”

Tony laughs bitterly. “Wouldn’t know it by the way he’s acting,” he mutters behind his bottle of Coke.

“Just give him time,” Steve reassures.

They lapse into silence for a moment, and then Steve speaks up again, voice quiet and unsure. Like he’s not certain he’s ready to talk about this yet, or if he’s even got the words. “I-” he clears his throat and tries again. “Once- One time Bucky was separated from our unit.” He pauses and furrows his brows, looking down. A moment later he continues. “We couldn’t find him for a few days. We thought he was dead. I wasn’t- I wasn’t myself.” A deep, shaky breath. “People aren’t themselves when they feel that low.”

Tony sighs. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Steve says assertively, nodding his head.

“Well, I guess that settles it, then, Captain,” Tony replies with a wink.

Steve blushes and looks away. But not before Tony notices.

-

Tony sits at his desk, staring at the folder from Natasha. It contains what she claims is all of the intel she’s gathered on him over the past two years, as well as an envelope sealed with a lipstick stain and a numerical cryptogram scrawled on the back. Tony narrows his eyes, itching to solve it. He looks at the paperwork for a moment, wondering if the key can be discerned from that, but he doubts it. She’s probably left one with Bruce; the only way to solve it is to give the letter to him.

Clever woman.

He picks up the other folder, the one from Coulson. Tony has read it over a few times and still can’t sit through it without getting completely _agitated_. He knows the military would benefit from the use of his technology. And he can’t deny it, the idea of further distancing himself from the “Merchant of Death” title is very attractive. But the last time he did business with the government it didn’t exactly work out for him. Stane wasn’t the only bad guy selling Tony’s shit to other bad guys.

Fury and co claim they’ve weeded out the rats, but that’s impossible with an infestation this big; they’d have to burn the whole establishment to the ground and start over. But this is bureaucracy, and that’s never going to happen. So, Tony is at an impasse- He wants to do the right thing. But not at the expense of himself again.

 

If Uncle Sam wants him to play, he’s going to have to meet a few of Tony’s demands.

-

“Open up, Bruce,” Tony calls, pounding on the door to his apartment. A few moments later, Bruce answers. “Man, you look like shit,” Tony says bluntly, inviting himself in.

“What- what are you doing here,” Bruce asks quietly. He’s still in pajamas and doesn’t look like he’s shaved in days. Poor little guy.

“Look, I know you’re avoiding me because of the whole ‘girlfriend being a government spy’ thing, but honestly Bruce, no hard feelings. It happens.”

Bruce just looks at him, gaze steady and infinitely dark.

“Oh, right! Listen,” Tony quickly adds, ignoring Bruce’s death glare, “Natasha left this for you.” He hands him the envelope, but before Bruce can take it, Tony pulls it back ever so slightly. “If I give you this, you have to tell me what that says,” he demands, indicating to the cryptogram.

“Let me see it,” Bruce says, frowning. He glances at the numbers for a bit, brows furrowed. A moment later he seems to think of something and quickly pulls out his phone, looking back and forth between the envelope and his phone for a while.

“Well, what’s it say?” Tony prompts.  

“’Mind your own business, Stark,’” Bruce says, amused.

Tony pulls a face. “Excuse you. _Rude_.”

Bruce laughs. “No, that’s what it says.” He shakes his head, still smiling, and opens the envelope. Tony never claimed to _not_ be nosey, so he doesn’t even bother trying to hide the fact that he’s reading from the paper as well. But it’s just more numbers. _Damn_ her.

Tony glances up at Bruce’s face. There’s tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling.

-

\-   

“You look like someone just stomped on the American flag,” Tony says when he meets Steve at Bryant Park. This has become a habit of theirs; grabbing food from a vendor and taking a walk whenever their lunch breaks match up. (And since Tony makes his own schedule, they usually do.)

Steve laughs a bit, but there’s no hiding the furrow in his brow or how puffy his eyelids are. “This morning has been rough,” he concedes, then glares at Tony. “And are you _ever_ going to quit with the Captain America references?”

“Probably not,” Tony replies honestly, letting Steve steer them toward a park bench. It’s the beginning of March and its _still_ winter, but Steve is a native; the cold doesn’t bother him at all.

“Buy me a coffee before I freeze to death, would ya?” He slides his credit card into Steve’s hand before Steve can protest, and tells him to put his order on there, as well. Steve tries to argue but Tony pretends he can’t hear him. Exasperated, Steve wanders off to get coffee and sandwiches.

Tony waits till Steve is out of earshot before checking his phone. He knows not to expect anything, but he can’t help but to look and see if Stephen has called and he somehow missed it. But of course, he hasn’t. Tony throws his hood up, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slumps down in his seat, pouting. That’s how Steve, who can’t help but laugh, finds him.

“You look like a disgruntled Ewok,” Steve says, grinning at his own joke.

“And you look like a super ripped youth pastor,” Tony snips back.

Steve rolls his eyes, used to Tony’s acerbic attitude by now. They share the bench and eat in comfortable silence.

At first Tony had been worried Steve might have a crush on him, but the more they hangout and the more Steve talks about his friend, Bucky… It’s impossible to miss the look in Steve’s eye when he brings him up. He left the military and got an acting gig and a million other jobs to help cover medical expenses the army wouldn’t. Bucky is Steve’s world; he’d go through hell for that man.

‘ _Correction_ ,’ Tony thinks, ‘ _Steve_ is _going through hell for him._ ” Tony might not know much, but he sees how worn out Steve looks, how deflated and beaten down life has him at times. But he never lets it keep him down for long. And he never, ever seems to think about giving up.

Steve makes Tony want to be a better person. Makes him want to try harder for Stephen. When he’s having a particularly rough day, he’ll find himself wondering how Steve would handle it. It’s almost always the opposite of what Tony would do.

It’s almost always the right option.

“So, what’s going on?” Tony asks, stepping out on a limb.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first and Tony tries to back-pedal. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says stiffly, not used to being this emotionally sensitive.

“No, no… It’s okay,” Steve says quickly. “Just, more of the same... trying to gather my thoughts, I guess.”

Tony nods and stares at his now cold cup of coffee.

“Bucky was hurt in Iraq… head injury.” A pause. “It really messed him up, changed his personality. Messed with his memories.” Steve has to take a deep breath. He closes his eyes for a second. “There’s a procedure they could do. An operation.” He smiles humorlessly. “But no one is willing to do it. Apparently, it’s too risky.”

Steve says they've been trying to find a surgeon for over a year and Tony’s blood runs cold. He’s too afraid to ask which neurosurgeons have said no. Because he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.  

-

“Sir, Steve Rogers wishes to speak with you.”

“What- now? Jesus, what time is it.”

“2:34 AM.”

“…Alright. Save everything, end task. Send him up.”

“Very well, sir.”

 

“What’s going on, Steve?”

“I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night like this, Tony.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Oh, but don’t drink anything Dum-E tries to hand you. Just… don’t.”

“Ahh… Okay. I’m good, just… Man, I hate to do this, I just-”

“Steve. It’s okay. We’re friends. Just spit it out.”

“No, it’s nothing. Just, can I- can I stay here tonight?”

“Sure thing. Give me a sec, I’ll show you where the guest room is.”

“I’m… I’m not tired yet.”

“In that case, any good with computers?”

“Ah… Not really.”

“Good, I work better alone, anyway. You can just sit there and look pretty.”

-

The next day, Tony wakes up late to find coffee waiting in the pot and breakfast, room temperature by now, sitting on the kitchen counter. Next to it sits a note from Steve.

**Tony-**

**Sorry to dash, Buck has an appt at the VA. Thanks for everything. I mean it.**

**-Steve**

Last night Tony had gotten the impression that Steve wound up at his door because he and Bucky were fighting, but it looks like they’ve made up now. Tony smiles at the thought and pours himself a cup of coffee, only a little jealous that those two seem to make up so easily and he can’t even get a measly text back from Stephen.

-

-

Tony looks up from his computer when he hears the faint whoosh of the elevator door opening. Stephen Strange, dressed in a light jacket and casual suit, steps out. He’s walking with the help of a boot, and when he takes off his jacket, Tony sees a brace wrapped around his left wrist.

Stephen runs a hand through his hair and sighs, his shoulders dropping. He looks at Tony and gives him the smallest, saddest smile. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Tony stands up from his desk, too surprised to say anything.

“Wasn’t sure if I could still just… let myself up like that,” Stephen continues stiffly. Tony walks up to him until there’s only a few inches between them. Stephen swallows and whispers, “But, I guess I can, so-”

“Shut up,” Tony says and pulls him into a hug. A moment later, long arms wrap around him, tentative at first, then firm, gaining confidence. Tony closes his eyes and rests his head against Stephen’s shoulder, releasing weeks-worth of tension in one shaky breath.

“Thank you, Tony,” Stephen says quietly, bringing his good hand to the back of Tony’s neck. “For everything.”

Tony laughs tightly, fighting to remain calm while his eyes well with emotion. “It’s about damn time,” he whispers because he can’t trust his voice right now.

Stephen holds him tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into his hair. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t-” he chokes, unable to continue. Tony shushes him, nuzzling into his neck, rubbing a comforting hand on his back. A moment later, Stephen takes a deep breath and straightens himself, adjusting his tie and furrowing his brows in consternation. But for the first time, he doesn’t move away from Tony’s personal space.

There’s a sudden surge of warmth spreading through Tony’s entire body and its almost too much to bear. A silly grin threatens to slip out. He wants to kiss Stephen, just for the hell of it. Just because he can. He wants to say, “hey, you repressed asshole, I _love_ you. Quit hiding. We can be fucked up together; it’ll be great.” But that seems too... much. Pepper and Rhodey say he comes on too strong. He doesn’t want to scare Stephen off. So, “ _there’s_ the miserable bastard I know,” is what he says instead, flashing a grin. Stephen snorts and shoves him away.

Tony laughs and offers his arm, gesturing back toward the elevator. “Can I interest you in some custom work, sir?” he asks.

Stephen looks down at his wrist and then back to Tony. “Do you even have to ask?”

-

“I was never really that close to Victor, growing up,” Stephen suddenly says, voice quiet. They’re standing on Tony’s balcony, star gazing. Tony is so surprised by this sudden shift in conversation from Hydra to the giant elephant in the room that he holds his breath for a while without meaning to.

“Donna, my little sister, she was the glue that held us all together. She was… adventurous. And kind of a pigheaded ass at times, too.” A pause. “You would have loved her.” Stephen huffs a small laugh, looking off into the night sky for a while.

“When she died, Victor tried to keep in touch for a while but, without Donna it just seemed pointless…” His voice drifts off, as if lost in thought for a moment. “Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat, “when mother passed away, Victor renewed his efforts to connect. But at the time, I was busy with medical school…”

Stephen stops speaking and blinks a few times. Tony averts his gaze.

“Then dad died. Victor was furious I wouldn’t come see the family but… I just didn’t see the _point_. None of us were close. Mom and Dad were gone, _Donna_ was gone… But he just… wouldn’t accept it.” Stephen licks his lips and swallows. “He came to my apartment, looking for a fight. We argued… and he stormed out.” A pause. “The driver didn’t see him.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say. So, he just reaches for his hand and doesn’t let go.

Until Stephen turns to him with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and says, “I should go.”

Tony wants to beg him to stay, but he doesn’t. Stephen is going through so much. He’s still grieving the loss of his brother. Still healing, both emotionally and physically, from a traumatic near-death experience. Tony, unfortunately, knows what that’s like, and it’s _not_ a walk in the park to bounce back from.

So, he just smiles and softly says, “alight.” And when Stephen doesn’t kiss him good-bye, he keeps smiling.

-

The next day, Tony invites Stephen over for dinner, but he declines.

“I’ve got a lot of reading to do; I took on a few patients as a consulting physician until I’ve completed physical therapy,” he explains. Apparently, Stephen had only taken the minimum amount of time off recommended by the board and was ready to hit the ground running. Fucking workaholic.

“God knows everyone in the department should be grateful for my help,” Stephen mutters.

Tony snorts. Fucking _narcissistic_ workaholic.

“Sir, Steve Rogers wishes to see you,” JARVIS announces.

Tony puts his phone to his shoulder for a moment. “Send him up,” he says, even though he’s a little confused since they hadn’t made plans.

“Is someone coming over?” Stephen asks.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. A friend just popped by.”

“Alright,” Stephen says. A pause. “Anyone I know?”

Tony laughs. “No, mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

-

“Thanks for letting me come up,” Steve says.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to you coming over at all hours of the day.” Tony smiles, putting his fork down on his plate. “Besides, you made dinner, I’m not about to complain.”

Steve looks at him from across the small steel table, gaze soft and thoughtful. They sit in silence for a moment, save for the music playing from his vintage jukebox.

Tony sits back and tilts his head, frowning a bit. “What’s up, kid?”

Steve looks away and shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says.

“You sure?” Tony presses, growing concerned.

Steve gives a humorless laugh and places his chin in his hands, looking anywhere but at Tony. “I’m just tired,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “That’s such bull shit, Rogers. Try again.”

Steve looks at him for a moment, then sits up, resting his forearms on the table. He looks down at their hands; they’re only a few inches apart. He leans forward a bit until their finger-tips almost graze.

Tony furrows his brows, looking from their hands to Steve’s face.

“I really am tired,” Steve says, almost whispers. “I love Bucky but it’s…” he sighs and closes his eyes. “He’s not the same. And _he_ knows he’s not the same. And that makes him so _sad_ and- He’s- He tries but it’s- I’m-”

Tony places a hand over Steve’s, hurting for him. He can’t imagine what it must be like, trying to salvage something that once was with a man who barely knows himself, let alone who his best friend is. “Hey,” he says softly, “we’ll think of something, okay? I’ll help you. Whatever I can do. I promise.”

Steve looks like he might burst into tears. “Oh, Tony you do-”

Suddenly, the elevator opens. Stephen steps out and spots the two of them. He raises a brow when he notices their hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, voice dangerously low, “am I interrupting something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Stephen, calm down.  
> Also, I'm never writing about Steve and Stephen ever again. This mess had me typing "Steven" half the time. Ugh.


	13. for long you live and high you fly, but only if you ride the tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Dr. Hosin is mentioned in this briefly. This in an AU; I decided to have him and Tony meet later, under better circumstances. Also, about Steve: I hate where the MCU took his character. So I ignore that canon in favor of the comics. In case y'all are still like, "why doesn't this bitch hate Steve" hahaha. 
> 
> The chapter title is taken from Pink Floyd's "Breathe". Aside from the fact that Pink Floyd is life, and the fact that there's some cool connections between the band and the Doctor Strange comics (google it!) To me, the song is about remembering to actually live your life, and not just continuing the cycles that don't serve you. Given what these two idiots have spent their time doing thus far, I felt it was fitting, lol. (I uh, may or may not have also picked it just because I liked the idea of those two making out to Pink Floyd. Ahem.) Anyway, give it a listennn.

Steve sits back, pulling his hand with him like he’s been burned. Tony looks from Stephen, to Steve, and then back again, face unamused. 

“Are you- are you _serious_ right now, Strange?” Tony says, exasperated. “If you’ll recall, I asked you over for dinner. You were busy, remember?” he asks slowly, sarcastically.

“I should go,” Steve says quietly, standing up from the table. Tony stands up with him and watches as Stephen finally turns his attention to the younger man. He gives Steve a once over, practically glowering at him. It’s hard to miss the way Stephen’s eyes twitch when he notices Steve’s physique and Tony… Tony is just too tired for this shit right now.  
He turns to face Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, apologetically. “I’ll text you, alright?”

Steve nods and heads for the elevator, face beat red by now. Stephen follows him with narrowed eyes until he’s out of sight. When the door finally shuts, and he can hear the car descending, Tony allows himself to speak more freely. “What the _hell_! Why are you acting like this?”

Stephen folds his arms over his chest. “I am not apologizing,” he says flatly. 

Tony rolls his head back and throws his arms up. “Okay, _fine_! But can you at least tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Stephen scowls and steps closer, almost into his personal space. It’s obvious he’s trying to use his superior height to make some sort of macho point, but Tony just rolls his eyes.  
“What’s going on?” he repeats, softer this time, trying to deescalate the situation. Not because he’s too mature for petty fights, but simply because he’s just really over Stephen’s mercurial attitude.

“I want you to stop seeing him,” Stephen says.

Tony balks. “Excuse me?”

“Steve Rogers. I want you to stop seeing him.”

“Okay, so first of all _no_ , and second of all, how do you even know his name?”

Stephen huffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. The entire internet knows his name. Like you haven’t seen the photos.”

Tony raises a brow. “Photos?” he asks, not even bothering to conceal his annoyance at this point.

Stephen levels him with an exasperated glare. Tony just stares at him, waiting, and Stephen scoffs, pulling out his phone to look for something. A moment later, he shows Tony a few photos. They’re all of Steve and him, most of them at the park, eating and chatting, but one is of them at a coffee shop, huddled together in what looks like an intimate setting thanks to the framing, but in reality, had just been a crowded and loud establishment. They had only sat that close in order to hear each other.

Tony can’t help it; he laughs.

Stephen frowns and snatches his phone back, standing up tall once more.

“Steve’s just a friend,” Tony says, grinning. “Did you really think I was seeing him?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Stephen nearly cuts him off, embarrassed. “Isn’t that your MO?”   

Tony frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “That you’re a player,” he says, tone biting. “Haven’t we already had this conversation, Stark?”

Tony feels like he’s been punched in the gut. There’s a sudden, rushing, pounding in his head. “You thought-” he stops and tries again, voice flat. “You thought I was seeing other people. This whole time?” A pause. “This whole time.” 

Stephen raises a brow. “I did assume, yes.” He falters for a moment. “You… weren’t?”

Tony gives a humorless laugh and sits back down at the table. He finds a spec of food on its surface and examines it thoroughly, trying to focus on anything other than how angry and sick he’s starting to feel. “No,” he answers faintly. “No, I wasn’t.”

Stephen’s shoulders slowly slump. All of the fight drains from him as he realizes his mistake. “Tony… I’m sorry.”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. This whole time… _Fuck_. Just how little does Stephen think of him? Because Tony thinks the world of Stephen. Forget any farfetched ideas of romance he’s been fantasizing about- he respects Stephen. He thought that, at the very least, that feeling was mutual.

Apparently not.

“You know what?” Tony suddenly says, anguish quickly turning to anger. “Fuck your sorry, Stephen. Get out."

Stephen narrows his eyes, jaw clenched. He looks like he wants to say something and for a second his expression softens. But he changes his mind and turns away to leave instead, eyes dull.

- 

Tony supposes he should get used to the sleepless nights again.

-

He sits at his desk with every intension of focusing on his work, but his mind keeps wandering back to Stephen and everything he’d said yesterday. He stops typing and works his jaw. Fuck Dr. Strange and his assumptions. So _what_ if Tony has (ages ago!) had a lot of lovers? That’s not something to be ashamed of, so for Stephen to act like such a dick about it- And besides! Just because he has played the field doesn’t mean he’s incapable of a long term, monogamous relationship. 

…And just because he’s never had a long term, monogamous relationship doesn’t mean he isn’t fucking interested in one.

Not that he ever told Stephen any of that. 

Oh, whatever. He is not about to let his mind somehow convince him to see this from Stephen’s side. Absolutely not. Strange shouldn’t have just _assumed_. He should have asked!

But then again, Tony probably could have just told him. 

He sighs and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Tony keeps telling himself he hasn’t said anything about his feelings because it isn’t the right time, or because it’s too soon, or because Stephen isn’t ready, but the truth is… he’s just scared.

He takes a deep breath and tries to tune back into the current task at hand. If his mind isn’t going to stay on his side, then he’s going to give it busy work.

“If they want to focus on safety instead of capability, good for them,” Tony mutters to himself, skimming through an e-mail before disregarding it. Some of his colleagues are warning him to be cautious with his AI technology, but Tony knows what he’s doing.

He’s sick of everyone just thinking they’ve already got him figured out. He’s not the immature kid who inherited Howard Stark’s company. He’s a futurist, and he doesn’t have time for people who can’t keep up. Who can’t see the bigger picture. 

Who refuse to see him for who he really is instead of who he used to be.

Why is that so fucking difficult for them?  
   
…Why is that so difficult for _Stephen_? 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter says, pulling him from his thoughts. Tony hadn’t even heard him come in. He blinks and looks up. “What’s up, kid?”

“These were accidentally sent to me; you need to sign off on them,” Peter says, passing him a few files. Tony flips through the lot and hands it back to him. “No, I sent these to you.”

Peter furrows his brows. “Mr. Stark, I’m just an intern. I don’t have the clearance…?”

Tony squints and cocks his head, thinking. After a moment he shrugs, nodding to himself. “I wanted to wait and throw a huge surprise party after graduation, but- Congrats, kid. Consider yourself promoted. Now get back to work.” He shoos Peter away from his desk.

Peter stares, wide-eyed, from Tony, down to the files in his arms, and then back up to Tony.

“I’m sure this is a really special moment for you, but some of that is time sensitive, sooo.” Tony acts put-upon, but he’s secretly touched that Peter is this excited.

“R-right, yes, sir!” Peter says, turning on his heel. 

Tony watches Peter walk away, a thoughtful look in his eye. His love life might suck, but life’s not all crap.

He smiles.

-

His mental reprieve lasts all of twenty minutes when Tony gets the bright idea to check social media while he takes lunch. Moments into scrolling through twitter and he’s steadily fluctuating between annoyed and amused. Apparently, the internet thinks he, quite cruelly, left Stephen for a younger man after his car accident. Tony isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or punch whoever is spreading this nonsense. Instead, he does the mature thing and forwards it to his social media manager to have it removed on pain of legal action. They promptly respond and tell him they’re already working on it.

Stephen definitely should have asked him instead of just assuming, but Tony is still beyond irritated that _this_ is what was floating around the internet while Stephen was trying to focus on getting well.

His anger begins to melt, if only just a little.

-

He thinks about texting Stephen, but he can’t do it without calling him a **real douche canoe** , so he hits the backspace and tosses his phone on his desk.

His anger may have begun to melt, but apparently not enough for civil conversation. 

-

“Have you heard from Rhodey?” Pepper asks. They’re working together over holo-conference.

Tony shakes his head no. “He’s been on assignment since the beginning of December.”

Pepper groans. “That jerk. He’s gonna miss-” she winces at a Braxton-Hick’s contraction. 

“Tony Jr’s glorious entrance?” he supplies with a cheeky grin.

Pepper glares at him, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. “Not happening,” she says, face deadpan. “Oh, have you gotten in touch with Dr. Hosin yet?” she asks him. “You’re leaving for Tibet soon.”

“He knows we’re coming,” Tony says with a shrug. 

Pepper gives him The Look; Tony sighs and waves her off, promising to call the older doctor that afternoon.

“Is your doctor friend coming with you?” Pepper asks with a grin.

Tony looks away for a moment; he hasn’t exactly kept her up to date with the state of things with Stephen, but in Tony’s defense, _he_ can hardly keep up with it himself. In the span of twenty-four hours, they’ve gone from semi-alright (again) to… back to being a fucking mess. Again.

“Did you guys fight _again_?” Pepper asks. “I thought you just made up.”

Tony purses his lips and glares at her. “In my defense, it was completely his fault this time.”

She looks at him like she finds that hard to believe, which Tony finds extremely prejudice and unfair. “What happened?” she asks.

“He thinks I’ve been sleeping around,” he says, laughing bitterly. “This whole time. What the fuck is that all about?”

“Tony…” she leans forward a bit, resting her arms on the table. “Have you and Stephen ever really… _talked_ about not seeing other people?” her voice is soft, tentative.

Tony scowls. “No, but he shouldn’t have assumed.” 

Pepper gives a rye smile. “No, he shouldn’t have,” she concedes. “But if you guys don’t stop this and just, you know, talk, this will keep happening.”

“Well, I don’t feel like talking to him.”

Pepper sighs and rubs at her temple. “Look, Tony, I’ve got to go…”

He narrows his eyes at her. “No, you don’t,” he says, voice suspicious. “This conference is scheduled to last another thirty minutes.”

“Go talk to Strange,” she fusses at him. “Quit calling me on company time to complain about him!” And with that, she ends the connection, her hologram disappearing into thin air.

Tony crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at where her image had been moments before. “Well played, Ms. Potts,” he grouses. 

On his way down to the garage, Tony gets a text message from Steve. It reads:

**I’m sorry about yesterday. Could we talk?**

Tony checks the time, it’s nearly seven in the evening. **Sure thing, I was heading out anyway. Want to grab a bite?**

Tony can admit, at least to himself, that part of him hopes this outing will be photographed as well, so Strange can maybe jump to some _more_ stupid conclusions. The idiot.

Steve’s response is nearly instantaneous, and they make plans to meet at the diner on 9th. Since it’s only a twenty minute walk, Tony decides against driving. He still hates the cold, but he likes the chance to clear his mind.

-

Someone falls into step with Tony on his way down 45th Street.

“I guess you changed your mind?” a low, feminine voice asks. He turns his head to the side and sees Natasha. He grins.

“Back so soon, Miss Romanov?” he asks lightly.

“Don’t act surprised,” she says smoothly. “We’re just trying our best to meet you half way, and you said you’d only work with me.”

Tony just hums a bit and gives her a knowing look. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, still smiling. “But you should know, I didn’t do it for you.”

Natasha’s face remains expressionless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.

“The note you left Bruce,” he reminds her. “You shouldn’t have left a message for me.”

At that, she falters for a second and turns her head, finally looking at him. Tony narrows his eyes, amused. That got her attention.

“ _’Mind your own business, Stark’_ ,” he says. “You broke the code for me, all I had to do was look at the key.”

“He… showed you?” she asks. Tony shakes his head. “Nah, I’m nosey,” he says, tapping his glasses. Natasha catches on quickly- he’d taken a picture of Bruce’s phone screen and the message. Knowing what the message she left Tony meant, it had only taken a few seconds to decipher the longer note she’d left for her lover.

She had told him to meet her, “where we first met” at seven o’clock in five months’ time. 

Tony had figured that she was either going to break her contract with the government, or else not renew it. She was, apparently, willing to throw away her job as an undercover agent for Bruce. Because there’s no way she could ask him to meet her like that under any other circumstances.

So, when Tony realized where Natasha’s real loyalties lie, the choice had been an easy one. He would work with the government. But only if Natasha was his liaison. Because he might not trust Natasha, but he trusts Bruce. And Bruce is her one weakness. 

She narrows her eyes when she realizes what Tony did. But… Thanks to him, she gets to keep her job. And her boyfriend. Because if she’s working with Tony, and it’s a very long-term contract, then she’ll be local for the most part. Which means she can keep seeing Bruce. She doesn’t have to uproot herself again and disappear. 

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for a thank you, Stark,” she says, but her voice is almost soft.

Tony laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies.

She smiles at him and slips off into the next alleyway they pass.

-

By the time he gets to the diner, Tony’s not any closer to a decision about what to do with Stephen. The less angry he gets, the more he can see this from Stephen’s perspective. But his ego just isn’t quite ready for that yet. 

He tries to shove those thoughts to the back burner though, when he sees that Steve is already there, sitting at a booth in the back.

“Did you know the internet thinks we’re dating?” Tony asks with a grin as he slides into the booth across from the other man. 

Steve blushes and his eyes widen. “Wh-what?”

Tony nods, still smiling. “Yep. And apparently its angry. They think I left Stephen for you.”

The waitress comes over and takes their orders. She leaves, and Steve is still in shock. Tony wasn’t sure he could turn any redder, but his face is currently proving him wrong. “Oh…” Steve says. “Is that why Dr. Strange was so upset?”

Tony nods, pulling a face. “Yeah, so instead of talking to me about it he just- Well, you were there.”

Steve looks down at his coffee cup, playing with the handle, absentmindedly adding more cream and stirring it far longer than necessary.

Tony furrows his brows and looks at him over his shades. “What’s up, kid?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, smiling softly. Almost sadly. “I just feel bad, is all.”

Tony waves him off. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t make him act like an idiot.”

Steve laughs a bit, but he shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he clarifies. Steve takes a deep breath and looks Tony in the eye for a moment before looking back down again. “I feel guilty because I enjoy hanging out with you.” A pause. “I just… Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if- I don’t know. If I had met you first. Instead of Buck.” He shrugs ruefully, glancing up at Tony. 

Tony is still processing everything Steve has said, so he just stares at the younger man for a moment, blinking at him. Behind his shades, his face is an unreadable mask. 

Steve looks away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says, starting to panic. “I wasn’t- I love Bucky. Even if he’ll never-” He stops talking and swallows, trying to calm down. He clears his throat and starts over. “You’re a great guy and you- You have no idea how much your friendship has meant to me these past few weeks, Tony,” Steve says quietly. “Stephen is lucky. I hope he realizes that. I hope you realize that.”

Tony finally finishes with his mental reboot. “Oh my god, does someone have a little crush on me?” he asks smugly. 

Steve closes his eyes and purses his lips. “Is that all you got out of that?” he asks.

Tony shrugs, smiling. Steve rolls his eyes and grabs the menu, ignoring him.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Tony says, “I’m sorry. Look, I think it’s real cute you’re sweet on me-”

Steve lowers the menu. “I never said that,” he says, cutting him off. It’s obvious he’s exasperated; his ears have gone red, but his face remains calm and collected. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Tony teases because he can’t not. “It’s understandable, I’m a good lookin’ guy.”

“I take it back,” Steve grumbles. “You two deserve each other.”

Tony laughs. The waitress arrives with their meals. They finish eating and promise to catch up soon. But just as Steve is about to turn and leave, Tony touches his forearm, stopping him.

“Good luck with Bucky, Steve,” he says warmly, squeezing his arm gently. “He’s a lucky guy, too, you know?”

“You too, Tony. I mean it.” 

-

Instead of heading upstairs when he gets back, Tony heads for one of his cars, intent on getting out of the city for a while and going for a drive. Only when he makes his way toward his personal parking deck, he runs into someone headed for the elevator. 

It’s Stephen. The winter air is still clinging to the spring, and his coat is far too thin for how late it is. His cheeks are red, and his hair is slightly windblown. In his hands, he’s carrying a bag of fast-food.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, voice tired. 

“You said I can only come up if I bring food,” Stephen replies quietly, voice low. “So, I brought food.”

Tony’s stomach flutters a bit, but he still rolls his eyes. “That only applies when you’re not being a complete dick.”

Stephen looks away, shoulders tense. And now Tony wants to roll his eyes at _himself_ , because he’s starting to feel a bit of sympathy for the doctor. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, let’s just talk,” Tony says. “Just… come on up and we can… talk.”

He makes his way to the elevator and turns to look at Stephen expectantly. The door opens and they both step in. Tony tells JARVIS to send them to the top floor. Stephen stands hugging the wall to Tony’s left, arms firmly crossed. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Tony,” he says. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Tony wants to make a face and say, ‘ _Yeah, no shit_.’ But then they’d just waste another seventy years fighting. If he can’t be sarcastic, though, then he has no idea how to reply.  
Before he can worry about it for too long, the doors open. Tony makes a beeline for the jukebox, and Stephen hovers over by the kitchen island. Tony could just have JARVIS play something for him, but he honestly needs a moment to compose himself.

 _Fuck_ , this is awkward.

He thinks about playing some of his favorite music, or maybe some country, just to mess with Strange. But he opts for a peace offering instead. He looks for the right number, then punches it in. 

Mind made up, he takes a deep breath and turns around with a little grin. “So, friends again?” he asks quietly, half joking. At those words, Stephen seems to focus on him a bit more and he leaves the kitchen, walking across the open dining area to the far wall where Tony stands in front of the jukebox. 

Pink Floyd’s _Breathe_ begins to play.

“We’ve never just been friends,” Stephen replies quietly. He’s standing so close Tony is forced to take a step back and lean against the record player ever so slightly in order to maintain eye contact.

“You’re a real headache, you know that, Strange?” he asks, snaking his arms around Stephen’s trim waist and pulling him flush against his body. “My apologies,” Stephen hums, placing his injured hand on the small of his back, the other behind his head, pulling Tony into a soft and slow kiss that seems to last forever. 

Tony drags his mouth across Stephen’s impossibly sharp cheekbones and down his jaw line. He takes a deep breath at the crook of Stephen’s neck, and inhales the scent of home. Stephen tightens his hold and brings their mouths back together. 

Their kisses grow deeper, more heated by the moment. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it feels like it’s been ages. Or maybe it feels like the first time.

Because this feels different. This feels new. There’s a novel, almost vulnerable and reverent shade to their touches now. As if they let go, the other might disappear. Stephen kisses behind his ear and down his neck. Tony trails his hands down Stephen’s back and grabs his ass, grinding their hips together slowly.

They should talk about… well, they should talk about a _lot_ of things. But Tony’s sick of the fighting, of the passive-aggression, of this entire, ridiculous war of attrition they seem to constantly be contending with.  

He knows he’s still repeating old habits; he’s ignoring the problem in favor of sex. Call him a coward, but every time they talk, they end up fighting. And right now, he just wants this.

He just wants Stephen.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, kissing the corner of the taller man’s mouth as he laces their fingers together, leading him into the master suite.

Tony dims the lights and takes off his tie. He turns back to Stephen and reaches for his, loosening the knot and pulling the ribbon of fabric from the collar, letting it fall to the hardwood to join his own.

Stephen keeps pulling him into kiss after kiss and Tony has to blindly unbutton both their dress shirts. Luckily, he’s got deft hands. He makes quick work of the rest of their clothing. 

Stephen is still healing; the bones in his left tibia is still sticking itself back together, and his right wrist still needs support. So, Tony guides him back to the couch facing the window overlooking Midtown.

He further dims the lights until there’s only the faintest glow in the room. The moon is high in the sky and even with the light rain, that’s all the light Tony needs to see every plane, every angle. Every gorgeous feature and expression.

Tony pushes Stephen to sit down and crawls in his lap, kissing him again. By now his face is raw with the scratch of beard but he couldn’t care less. They’re both hard by now and Tony rolls his hips, finding a slow, almost torturous rhythm. Stephen moans and flutters his eyes and pulls Tony closer.

“Careful with your wrist,” Tony says, nearly breathless.

“Doubting your own work, Anthony?” Stephen asks, mouthing at his collarbone as he reaches between them to line their cocks together, deliberately dragging one hand up and down while the other digs into the flesh of Tony’s ass, as if to make a point.

Tony shakes with need, whispering nonsense and holding onto him for dear life as Stephen slowly teases him to orgasm. 

Afterward, they make their way to Tony’s bed. At first, they keep to their own sides. But a few moments pass and they both find themselves slowly migrating to the middle, limbs tangling. Tony ends up making a pillow out of Stephen’s chest, and Stephen runs his fingers up and down his back. Tony knows they should talk, but he just can’t be bothered to care right now. Because all he wants is everything he’s got right now, and he just wants to enjoy it. The rest can wait for in the morning.  
   
He falls asleep listening to the sound of Stephen’s heartbeat and the rain steadily falling outside.

-

The next morning, Tony wakes up alone and thinks Stephen is running away again, like usual. He sighs and wonders if they’ll _ever_ get out of this cycle of insecurities and facades and wants to kick himself for not saying anything last night. 

He gets out of bed and picks up his phone and sees that Stephen has text him twice.

 **I hope you slept well** , reads the first. **Come over tonight** , reads the second. 

Tony blinks at his phone for a moment, surprised, before a grin breaks out on his face.

 **Like the dead** , Tony responds. **Trying to monopolize my time, doctor? I’m a very busy man.**  

 **Too busy for me?** Stephen quickly texts back.  

Tony holds his breath for a moment. Stephen is never this direct and so he has no frame of reference for how to handle such an inquiry. Should he be honest? Should he deflect with his usual acerbic wit? Should he call Pepper and ask her what to say? 

No, no. 

He can handle this.

Well. He’s been meaning to tell Stephen, anyway. Tony supposes there’s no time like the present.

 **I’m never too busy for you, love** , he types. Tony’s thumb hovers over the phone screen for a moment.

He hits send.

A few seconds later, Tony’s phone rings. It’s Stephen.

Tony’s stomach flutters and he swallows nervously before answering. “What’s up, babe?” he asks, voice light and casual.

“Did you mean that?” Stephen demands. Tony can practically hear his brows furrowing.

Tony worries at his lip for a moment. “Yeah,” he says after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

He hears Stephen’s breath catch in his throat. The silent moments that follow are nearly torturous for Tony, until Stephen finally responds. “Good,” he says firmly. “That’s… that’s good.” 

Tony can’t help but chuckle. It might not exactly be a confession, but it’s a start. 

And it’s a damn good one, if you ask Tony.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all soooo much for reading!! I loved every minute of working on this and I hope you guys liked it, too! I thought about ending this with some grand romantic declarations, but I thought this ending fit them better. They have a long road ahead of them but I think they're finally on the right path... Thanks again everyone! See you next time. xoxo


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